


Season of Saint-14

by ProphetessMinty, Riptor25



Category: Destiny (Video Games), Destiny 2 - Fandom
Genre: ASL, Crucible, Encouragement, F/M, Fireteam Mithrax, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Ikora is a mindbending genius, Learning to speak again, One Shot Collection, Pining, Positive Mental Health/Wellness, Randal the Vandal callback, Redemption, Remembering good times, Request for Mithrax, Romantic Comedy, Self-imposed silence, Slow Burn, The Raggedy Man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProphetessMinty/pseuds/ProphetessMinty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riptor25/pseuds/Riptor25
Summary: Saint-14 is the legend of the past, looking to the future for inspiration. The Guardian is the legend of the future, looking to the past for courage. Their stories will always be paradoxical; a never-ending loop. Here's a one-shot collection of [SaintXGuardian]. Will update periodically.
Relationships: Cayde-6 & Amanda Holliday (implied), The Guardian & Saint-14
Comments: 38
Kudos: 96





	1. The Homecoming of Saint-14

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any of the characters thereof. 
> 
> A/N: I really enjoy Saint-14 and from the moment the game introduced him...I knew he would grow on me. Annnnnnd, he has. Saint has such a great sense of humor and really is a great example of a gentle giant. Recently, I found there has been a lack of Saint-14 fics that ship him and The Guardian together. Figured I should remedy this. ;) I am currently working on a Star Wars story that's gone 12 chapters deep. Have no clue when that bus will let me off. Until then, I'm not committed to making ANOTHER in-depth story until that is finished. (Though I hope to one day...?!?!?!) In the meantime, however, I figured I could write some short stories to occupy me. Then T H I S occurred. Hope you all enjoy it. Buckle up! Get ready for the "d'awwww" moments.
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

** The Homecoming of Saint-14 **

* * *

High above the Last City, the night sky was aglow with bombastic firework displays. Explosive snaps of light dispersed quickly apart in grand arches, trailed by twinkling sparks of color. Purple. Pink. Turquoise. White. Red. 

It had been a long time since the city had celebrated anything other than the holidays. Between the Red War, the loss of the Hunter Vanguard—Cayde-6—and the constant skirmishes, it had left the people raw. More to the point, they felt empty and lacking. Humanity’s enemies were constantly wearing them down, like flowing water against a rock. In time, there would be an impression that hollowed them out and leaving them too soft to stand fortified. It was already a task to live life and even more so to enjoy it. 

Tonight, however, was different.

The homecoming of Saint-14 was like a breath of fresh air. The people's enthusiasm is what lit the skies beneath the lowest crest of the Traveler this very night. Even the resounding of their gusto could be heard from miles high, their cheers like a melody of angelic music. The fervor of their joy was sweet to the ear and pleasing to heart. 

Surely, this level of revelry would stick with her in the years to come. 

Deep in the core of her, she felt as lively as the showers of color above her. The fullness of fulfillment gathered in the Guardian's heart like an encouraging anthem, whispering a sincere message of hope. " _Fight the good fight!_ " it spoke. " _Let your light so shine. Let it burn bright. Brighter than any of those before you_." 

A surge of warmth and peace spread through her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. In that tranquility, a cascade of happy shivers ran through her limbs. Looking up, the Guardian's hazel eyes watched the dazzling display with quiet awe.

From on top of the Tower's parapet, she hunched forward on a metal rack while dangling her feet over the edge. Copper-red hair rustled freely in the air current, like waves of an ocean. Every so often, she would kick her feet back and forth like any happy child would do. She felt free to be her and only her, no unspoken expectations molding her to a rigid form.

As another gentle gust swept past, it gifted her presence with a cloud of purple and grey confetti. The Guardian leaned back; flat hands extended behind her on either side. As she watched the swirling festivities sail away in the invisible current, the wind suddenly died down to an insignificant whisper. A piece of purple paper floated downwards in a spiral like a leaf falling from a tree. 

In its quiet descent, the vivid material landed squarely on her nose. The feeling of its weight was foreign to her—tickling even. The Guardian opened her mouth, blowing softly upwards. The confetti lifted effortlessly, alighting from its fleshly resting place, before voyaging another helpless plunge. 

She smiled.

In her lonesome musings, the Guardian had not heard the tread of friendly feet that came her way. It wasn't till the rack began to shake, that she looked over and found the Saint himself climbing up to meet her. She smiled and signed " _hello_ " with a gesture reminiscent of a salute. 

"There you are, Friend. I have been looking all over for you," he said in way of greeting. 

The Guardian smiled, taking in the hard, over-pronunciation of certain words he spoke. When she met Saint for the first time—alive that is—she was taken aback by his thick Russian accent. She simply hadn't known to expect it, but it was a pleasant surprise, nonetheless. Now, she simply enjoyed it and being able to imitate his vocal isms within her mind. 

The Guardian put a flat hand to her chest, pulling back slightly, as a gesture that indicated a question. _What...me?_

He chuckled as he got onto the rack and took a seat next to her. "Yes, you," Saint said with a smile in his voice. "You are—how should we say—hard to find." As he said this, he grabbed at his neck as if motioning to massage it. 

She giggled noiselessly, putting an embarrassed hand over her mouth. Extending her right hand forward, she clenched the tip of her thumb to the tips of her other fingers. The shape resembled an "O" and she began moving it around in a circle. _Oh._ Quickly she patted her chest with a flat hand, then balled it into a fist with her thumb on top. Again, she made a circle motion, but on her chest this time. _I'm sorry._

"I—uh—I'm sorry. I'm not sure I understand what you just said," he spoke, a hint of embarrassment laced in it. 

With a nod and a smile, she gestured a "one" with her pointer finger. Saint nodded, as the gesture seemed to be the universal equivalent of "one minute" or "one moment, please". So, he waited patiently. The Guardian extended a flat hand forward, palm up, as a sprightly ghost coalesced inches above her hand in a cloud of blue and white light. 

The small being came together in a shape similar to an octahedron, its outer shell white with flat, orange tips. "Ah, hello Ghost," Saint greeted. 

"Am I playing the part of translator again?" Ghost asked somewhere between amusement and lighthearted jest. 

Saint shrugged. "Eh, minor details, little light," he said, nonchalantly glossing over his momentary shortcoming. "I will learn how to speak with her...in time." Ghost simply blinked at him before turning to his lightbearer. She repeated her previous gestures to Saint for Ghost to interpret. 

Ghost blinked, "Okay." Floating away from the Guardian, he made a noiseless journey over to Saint, hanging directly in front of him. "She said: 'Oh. I'm sorry." Saint nodded, before turning to his friend. A moment of awkward silence past between them as the helmeted Exo seemed to be contemplating what to say next. 

The Guardian started to sign as Saint said, "I've been meaning to—oh. What was that?" 

"She said: So..." Ghost translated. 

"Ah, okay." Again, Saint quieted awkwardly. “This is going to be a little more difficult than I had hoped,” he sighed.

She smiled and patted his shoulder, the gesture reassuring and encouraging that he had done nothing wrong. Quickly, she brought her hand out and swept it toward herself in an arched motion. _Come on._ Saint nodded, clearly understanding the message. "I've been meaning to tell—tell you…," he fumbled, "'thank you'." 

The Guardian tilted her head to the side as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Taking both hands, she made a circle with thumb and pointer while the other three fingers were pointed forward. Working the gesture in tandem, forward and back, she mouthed " _explain_ ". Saint watched as the Guardian’s hands dropped into her lap, the action patient and gentle.

“I realize that what you have done for me was nothing short of a miracle,” he said reverently. “You moved through the corridors of time to find me. No doubt, it was not an easy feat. I—” Saint fell silent as the Guardian placed a hand on his shoulder. She took at moment to point at his helmet before making a gesture to show its removal. “You…you want me to take off my helmet?” His voice was a mixture of bewilderment and sheepishness. “I—are you sure? I do not have a pretty face. Not like yours.”

The Guardian’s cheeks flushed light pink as she turned away to look elsewhere. Suddenly, anywhere other than where the Exo sat had become interesting. Saint covered his slip with an exaggerated cough before playfully shoving her shoulder. “What? Never had a compliment before?” Leaning back, she turned to regard him with a laugh on her lips. “You sure know how to make a guy feel awkward.”

She giggled noiselessly, then feigned an offended reaction. She blinked exaggeratedly as she slapped a hand to her chest, her mouth hanging open in pretend shock. The Guardian shoved at his chest, then proceeded to fold her arms teasingly while looking away from him.

“Okay. Okay. Helmet off. You won, Friend,” Saint laughed.

The Guardian peeked over at the Exo as he started removing his helmet; pressurized air escaping with a quick hiss. She watched closely as his helmet came off and was placed in his lap. A smile came to her lips instantly, effectively conveying her appreciation. “I don’t do this often,” he said. “The last time I took off my helmet—” Saint trailed off, his attention suddenly elsewhere.

“What—what are you doing?” he asked with both fascination and amusement. 

The Guardian placed her hands on his face plates, taking it all in. The dents. The scrapes. The color. The details. With a subtle stroke of her thumbs, they swept over the place where human cheeks would have been. Everything she needed to know, to _see_ , was right there. She smiled adoringly and mouthed “there you are”.

Saint stilled himself, observing her as diligently as she was him. As sudden as her silent study of him began, it quickly ended. Her hands fell away, and she sat back, her hazel eyes searching his. A small part of him suddenly regretted the distance between them now and he was baffled at the strange emotion. He wasn’t sure he was capable of such sentiments, and yet here they were causing another paradox to unravel his thinking. 

With a simple gesture, she motioned for him to continue.

Saint coughed, “As I was saying. You did the impossible for me, even though it was unfair to ask any of this of you. Thank you for being everything a Guardian should be. I hope to follow your example.” She nodded in understanding, taking a moment to mull over his gratitude as she looked back to the sky again. A sudden frown came to her lips. During their conversation, the fireworks had ceased. Even the wind had retreated. Their only company was the background of cityscape and passersby a whole story below them. 

“What? All that and I get a head nod?” he cheeked. “No wonder you’re a Hunter. A people of few words—or in your case—few signs.”

This time the Guardian gave him a genuinely shocked expression before busting into laughter. The sound of her voice was soft but turned sharp as she gasped for breath. Her arms folded across her stomach hastily as she fell onto her back. The Exo chuckled, clearly doing his best to not succumb to the clutches of embarrassment. His honesty was both a strength and a weakness. 

Saint had only meant to thank her for her daring rescue, and it turned into something far more than he intended. “ _Aye! This is embarrassing_ ,” he thought. Looking over his shoulder, Saint found the Huntress staring at him. “What are you looking at?” he asked curiously as his voice deepened. The Guardian lifted herself up, resting on her forearms. For a moment, she chewed on her bottom lip with a thoughtful expression. Quickly she sat up, turning to the Exo, before crisscrossing her legs. 

Motioning for Ghost to come to her, the sprightly being floated over to her without question. With rapid movements and gestures, she poured out her thoughts. Though Saint had no clue what she was saying, he understood her nervousness. 

Ghost eventually swiveled around to look at the Exo, its geometric segments spinning around the orb of its midsection. “She says: ‘When I first met you, I had found your body. You were floating above the Vex you had conquered, covered in purple ribbons like a burial cloth. You appeared to be sleeping, but there was…no light in you. I couldn’t help but think how amazing you were. How brave you must have been to fight all alone.’” 

The little ghost turned to its lightbearer and watched as she continued signing. Relaying more information for him to interpret. “She also says: ‘I thought _that_ situation was unfair. To be outnumbered. Outmatched. And I couldn’t help but think to myself how unworthy I was in comparison to you. I was unsure I could measure up.’”

“Measure—measure up? Pah!” Saint scoffed. “It is I who cannot measure up, but I must try.”

The Guardian gave a small smile in response before motioning to Ghost again. “She says,” Ghost began, “‘when saving you became a possibility, I felt compelled to make it a reality. Osiris might have asked this of me, but I didn’t do it for him.” Saint took a moment to regard the Huntress and found that her lip began to quiver as tears pooled together in her long eyelashes. Quickly, she swiped at her eyes and started signing again.

“I couldn’t save Cayde,” Ghost interpreted, “but, I could save you. I was relieved when you came through the portal. All the tears, sweat, and blood…it was worth it. All of it. Look at all of this, the people are happy about your return.” As Ghost finished interpreting, the Guardian made a sweeping gesture with her hand, from left to right, as if to reiterate, “ _look at all of this_ ”. 

The burly Exo looked down into the cityscape so far below them. A sense of serenity radiated from the metropolis even though most of it was now asleep. He watched as lights twinkled in and out of focus in blurry splotches. “What about you?” he finally asked. 

Glancing to his friend, he watched as she placed a flat hand to her chest with a questioning look. _Me?_ He nodded. “Why is it that you still do not speak, though you hear?” The Huntress pulled her legs up, hugging them to herself as she laid her head down. She stayed this way for a moment before sighing. Looking up to him, her gentle features furrowed together to indicate pain. “She’s afraid that if she speaks, it’ll all come out,” Ghost spoke, free of interpretation.

Saint frowned as the Huntress nodded agreement. “How long has it been?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. 

“The last time she spoke was when Cayde died,” Ghost interrupted. 

Saint made a clicking noise, “This—this is not good. We must change this.”

The Guardian sat up and smoothed a strand of copper hair behind her ear. She nodded agreement. Cayde’s death was in the past and it was time to move on—to rise up. There were new opportunities on the horizon, and she needed to act if she wanted to ride the waves of change. “We will practice now. Come! Say something,” Saint said, waving his hands toward himself. 

She smiled and whispered, “Thank you, Saint.”

The Exo paused, clearly taken aback. The moment passed as a grin worked its way to his face. “Guardian! You spoke,” he roared happily. In the fervor of his joy, Saint leaned forward and squeezed her tightly in a breathtaking hug. She sputtered as his iron embrace caused the air in her lungs to recede.

“Oh. Sorry, my Friend,” he apologized, quickly letting go. “I did not mean to crush you.”

She laughed and fanned a dismissive hand in front of her. 

“You have beautiful voice. Tell me, what is the name of my Guardian-Savior?” he inquired.

The Guardian returned her hazel gaze to the expanse of dark space above. The wind picked up to a gentle breeze, rustling her hair in wavy flurries. The starry sky appeared far away in comparison to the dormant shell of the Traveler hovering above the Last City. For a time, she watched as the fragments of the Traveler orbited its gigantic frame in slow motion.

Though she never would have imagined having a conversation with Saint, much less how it unfolded, she found a spark of hope ignite within her. All this time, she was molding herself into an Atlas-archetype. She had placed the weight of the universe on her shoulders and it had been slowly crushing her spirit. Now, it was time to lift the self-imposed curse up off her shoulders and replace it with the mantle of a warrior.

Fixing her gaze upon Saint-14 once more, she smiled. Without a second thought, the Huntress leaned in and pecked his cheek. “My name is…” 


	2. I’ve Got 14 Emotions and Calm Ain’t 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A distinct purple plume ran along the top of the helmet and the way the Titan ran screamed full-bodied determination. The game was afoot. She would not hold back, and neither would he.

**I’ve Got 14 Emotions and Calm Ain’t 1** ****

* * *

Being deployed to the arid tableland of the Lighthouse on Mercury was more detrimental than one would expect. To the Guardian's dismay, she quickly learned why almost no one took the bounties or the quests to such a dead planet. Gritty dirt made it into just about everything she ate for the past month. She could still imagine the ghastly and unnatural crunch of sandy debris in her food, rattling her teeth and jaw with shock.

No winds of respite swept across the desert, quenching her skin with a cool breath. The air was drier and hotter than the Mojave Desert on a good day...according to Ghost. Her tongue more often than not stuck to the roof of her mouth when not drinking her meager ration of water. Even a little spit would have been manna from heaven. Alas, to her disgust, she would find herself desiring after the pools and falls of radiolorian fluid. 

The milky liquid would wash back and forth against the surfaces of Mercury's abominable terrain like a young tide. The pools and falls would splash at her, teasing her with mental images of dripping, crystal-clear water careening down an Earthen brook. My, oh my, how her heart ached for home. 

In addition to these well-earned gripes, were these last two tragedies to befall her.

Rough Mercurian grit would jam integral parts of her weapons, warranting an almost daily cleaning regimen. Sometimes it was nearly impossible to accomplish such a feat as Cabal incursions were hourly, ritual undertakings. What may have proven worse, perhaps, was her inability to find solitude within the Lighthouse while working on the maintenance and repair of her armament. 

Brother Vance would continually snoop over her shoulder, surveying her progress with borderline obsession. The man, quite frankly, was unaware of his unnecessarily close proximity to her. He had no sense of self, let alone the wherewithal of what a personal bubble was. As she would attend to her careful ministrations, the Lighthouse resident would berate her ears ceaselessly with zealous rants about the sublime and timeless Warlock—Osiris.

The Guardian eventually gave up and went straight to smashing things with her helmet or throwing knives at incoming combatants. 

And her hair. Oh! Her poor, coppery tresses were caked with more ashen dust than a scaly Cabal War Beast. The last couple days had done quite a number on her appearance, perfecting a concoction of dirt and frizz. In short, she was a train wreck of Mercury treachery. If the Huntress had to see the barren wasteland again in the next year, it would be too soon. 

Thankfully, those days were behind her now.

As the worn treads of her boots touched the concrete floor of the Tower's hangar, she inwardly rejoiced. The Huntress's spacecraft disappeared behind her in a wink of blue transmatter the moment she strode forward. Removing her helmet, she took a tentative breath and smiled. It proved to be cool and sweet as a gentle mountain breeze swept over her with refreshing kisses. " _It's good to be home_ ," she thought. 

The sun was overhead somewhere, the view of its position obstructed by the ceiling of the Tower's hangar. 

As the Guardian plunged ahead, she found a dense crowd engulfing Saint-14's vending "stall". The Huntress stopped short of the stairs parallel to Amanda Holliday's mechanic shop and took in the new sight. Much had changed since the last time she was home and Saint's popularity appeared to have tripled. From what she could see, the Titan's stall was made impromptu with the gangplank of his ship. An elaborate carpet runner decorated the walkway from the gangplank to a fence with some trunks stacked in front of it. 

Taking a closer look at the rug, the Guardian found a symbol depicting a golden eye with two triangles, one located above and the other below. Running along the length of the carpet, on either side, were waxy white candles not yet lit.

The Huntress hadn't been there for more than a minute when another crowd of Guardians piled into the walkway to meet with the Exo-Titan. Perhaps she would come back later when the crowd died down and she looked a little more decent. Her heart thumped unexpectedly at the thought of seeing Saint again and quickly thereafter a sense of anxiety followed suit.

"Welcome back, Guardian. I was wondering when I'd see ya' again," came a familiar drawl.

Looking to her left, the Guardian found Amanda walking up a small set of steps to meet her; the shipwright's steel-toed boots clunking heavily all the while. In Amanda's grease-stained hands was a red terrycloth she had been using to wipe at the black smudges. The blonde quickly stowed the cloth away into the pocket of her cargo pants and extended a hand between them. The Huntress did the same and they shook hands in greeting. "He's been busy ever since ya' left, ya' know." Amanda smiled like a fox and crossed her bare arms across her chest.

The Guardian shook her head, shaking with silent laughter. The blonde clicked her tongue and winked cheekily at her friend. "Might I also add, he's still very...very..." she paused and continued with an air quote, "available." A light flush came to the Huntress's cheeks before she went to nervously chewing her bottom lip. "You can't wait forever ya' know. Sooner or later...his attention might find something interesting." The Huntress shot a playful squint to the Shipwright before nodding in agreement.

"What's holding ya' back? You're a Hunter, aren't you? Go get em', girl!" Amanda encouraged, winking yet again.

The Guardian shook her head and waved both of her hands in a crisscross motion as if to say " _no, no, no, no..._ ". The Shipwright put a fist to her hip, a classic sign that the woman had a bone to pick. "Whuddya mean, 'no'?" Though her voice sounded upset, she was being rather playful.

Putting a flat hand to her chest, the Huntress raised a hand to her face. Placing the back of her closed fingers to her cheek, hand slightly arched and thumb out, she brought it forward. _I'm shy_. Amanda's eyebrow shot upward in disbelief. The Huntress continued to sign a longer explanation, but it was quick and nervous. Amanda watched patiently and finally blew out a quick breath. _Psh!_

"How could you NOT be worthy?" Amanda interrupted. The Guardian shrugged bashfully. "You, more than anyone else here, have a better chance at getting to know him and he, getting to know you." The Shipwright smoothed a lock of blonde hair away from her nose and sighed. "Is—is this why you've been gone for so long?" she finally asked. "You couldn't handle it?" 

The Guardian lightly tapped her thumb to her index and middle fingers twice while shaking her head. _No._ She paused as a thoughtful expression came to her face. A moment later, a look of defeat came over her, and she made a knocking motion. _Yes._

Amanda smirked. "You really need to stop secluding yourself. Purposely avoiding your emotions is going to hurt you...eventually. I—I would know..." she trailed off, holding herself tightly. The Guardian placed a consoling hand on her friend's shoulder in response. Amanda gave a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks."

The Huntress signed a flat hand toward Amanda, then brought a pointer finger to her chin. Next, she finger spelled " _C-A-Y-D-E-6_ ", ending with a traced question mark in the air. _You miss Cayde-6?_

Amanda nodded, "Yes, I miss him."

Before the Guardian could offer encouragement to the mechanic, Saint's voice carried over the suddenly hushed crowd. The Titan was regaling his followers with a story. As if compelled to move closer, the Guardian walked forward to listen in. Amanda followed behind, just as fascinated. At first, the Guardian's hazel eyes were locked on Saint-14 and the way he gesticulated his points with his hands. She smiled, happy to see him though he had not seen her.

The Huntress was entranced for sometime in a sort of tunnel vision, before a sleek and slender Exo-female standing close to Saint finally caught her attention. The Guardian's eyes studied the former human, noting the familiar black and white paint of the Black Armory Curator. " _Ada..._ " she thought to herself. Suddenly, the sound of her heart hammered in her ears and a sick feeling pooled in her gut. What was this emotion she felt? Casting it aside like one shakes water off a hand, she looked onward. 

Ada stood stiffly, scanning the crowd with her white-blue eyes. Normally, she would avoid the moody gunsmith, but as circumstances would have it...it wasn't possible. The two females locked eyes, their gazes intense and focused. "Is it true that Ada sang for you?" Someone in the crowd asked Saint. The bulky Titan laughed, his amusement knocking Ada and the Guardian back into reality. 

The Huntress blinked. 

"Ahh, yes," Saint answered, nodding his head excitedly. "Have you spoke with Ada, Guardian? She has a beautiful voice and a fascinating history," he nodded again. The same person in question, sighed dreamily for all to hear. Sounds of adoring "aw's" filled the stall, swiftly earning a crisscross shaking of hands from the Exo-Titan. He chuckled nervously as he shook his head. "Ahh, no, no. Not like that."

An intense heat rose the Huntress's cheeks, almost contrasting her Mercurian, dust-treated hair completely. As a rush of speculation crashed against her mind, the blonde shipwright leaned into her friend. " _This_ is what I meant by 'something interesting'," she whispered with a hand covering the side of her mouth. The Guardian bit her cheek and felt her hands ball into fists. She couldn't help it, a rise of something green rose up within her—jealousy.

Ada choose that moment to leave Saint-14's side and strode over to the Guardian. The Curator stopped in front of her, giving her an elevator glance, before focusing on hazel eyes. "Guardian," she spoke and softly nodded. "It has been a season since I last saw you. Will you not come to buy my wares again?" With that, Ada tapped a curious finger to the Guardian's chest plate where a turquoise glowing triangle had been inlaid.

"Kairos Function. The vest is rather...antiquated. Don't you think?" Ada asked, her voice bordering smugness. "I can provide something more suitable for a Guardian of _your_ stature." Ada nodded and set off through the hangar as if nothing had been said.

The Guardian felt a scarlet rage set in as a tremor worked through her. " _What is this? Why do I feel sooo...angry?_ " she thought to herself.

There was not much time to ponder things, when a booming voice called her. It was strangely familiar and oh-so Russian. Again, her name was called. Suddenly, the Guardian felt her breath leave her lungs as she was picked up in an iron embrace. "Guardian! You're back," Saint cheered, hugging his friend off her feet. "I thought I would never see you again." As the gentle giant set the Huntress to her feet, a wave of embarrassment came over her. 

"Your hair!" he exclaimed. "It looks—looks different from what I remember. What did you do to it?"

All eyes were on them and the Guardian couldn't help but notice the awkward murmurs spreading among the other Lightbearers like wildfire. "Why did you not call to me? I did not see you till now," the Exo inquired while patting her on the shoulder. Saint had overlooked the obvious elephant in the room. He didn't seem to know the full picture as his attention was squarely focused on her. The Guardian said nothing as she pointed behind him.

Saint obliged her gesture and looked behind himself. The crowd of Lightbearers quickly ceased their chattering as they dispersed in several different directions. "What—what is this? Why is everyone leaving?" he asked, scratching his helmet in genuine confusion. Amanda placed a fist to her hip as a disbelieving expression settled on her porcelain face.

"Ah, Saint. Ya' big idiot," she chastised before walking off.

The Huntress followed suit without a word. 

"Hey! Where are you going? Friend? Friend?!" he called after her.

* * *

"And so, she left. I have not heard from her since," his thick accent lilted with defeat. "And I can't help but—hey! Are you listening?" Saint asked as he nudged Shaxx's shoulder. The burly man of white-orange armor, donning a thick, gaudy pelt tottered backwards as he tried to catch himself. With a frustrated sigh, Shaxx found his footing and promptly smacked Saint's hand away.

"Yes. Yes!" Shaxx cried in complaint. "I have heard you. Let a man think! I can't answer you if you continue to assail my ears with your woes!"

"Woes? What 'woes"?" Saint asked, highly perplexed. 

The Crucible himself began rubbing the temples of his helmet as if he had a bludgeoning headache. That headache was called "Saint-14" and he was ill-suited to offer him advice. "Ah, Saint. You've got a woman problem. A Titan, such as yourself, should already know that," he barked.

"A 'woman problem'?" Saint inquired; his head cocked to the side. "I—I don't understand. Explain!"

"You big buffoon! If you can't under—That's it!" Shaxx exclaimed, a spark of realization coursing through him.

"What?" the Exo-Titan asked curiously.

"She's been dominating the Crucible for the last week and I keep getting bloody anonymous transmissions through the messaging distro's Postmaster. Very irritating!" Shaxx griped. "No wonder she's been an overwhelming force. 'Hell hath no fury' as the saying goes." Shaxx laughed to himself, dismissing Saint's barrage of questions. "Yes. Yes. The answer is clear."

As Saint went to ask another question, his fellow Titan turned around and grabbed him swiftly by the pauldrons. Yanking him close, joyous lunacy took over his demeanor as Shaxx's helmet about smashed into Saint's. "It's brilliant I tell you," he said, shuffling the Exo into a side hug. "I can see it now. Picture it! Picture it with me," he said while sweeping a hand through the air.

"People lined up in all the bars. Children pushing and shoving to get to the nearest monitors. Guardians placing glimmer down on who would win. The famous Saint-14, facing off against the famous—and scorned—Guardian." Excitement charged the air around them...or perhaps it was Shaxx. 

Either way, Saint-14 stopped asking questions. He was more confused than when he first begun their conversation. Now, suddenly, he was going into a Crucible match. "This is the last time I ask you for help," he groaned. "I hope you know your skirt is too tight."

* * *

The week had gone by in a blur and the Guardian spent most of that time blowing off steam in the Crucible. Not only were her "K/D" ratios markedly improved, but so was her accuracy. Apparently, the best motivating factor here was her intense desire to concentrate on other things that didn't involve a certain Exo-Titan. She frowned as a little doubt and embarrassment ebbed at her conscience. Perhaps she misunderstood the situation? Perhaps not?

With a shake of her helm, the Guardian double checked her grenade launcher before attaching it securely to her back. The timer had 20 seconds to go and she repeated the process with her hand cannon. 10 seconds left. She sighed as she stuck the gun back in its holster. 3 seconds left.

" _Sometimes, I hate emotions_ ," she thought.

0 seconds left.

The moment she touched down to the arena, she knew something was off. Her hazel eyes surveyed the landscape from behind the faceplate of her helmet. The rays of lights were subdued and indirect in comparison to Mid Town, the last arena she had played at. The sky was a shade of turquoise that contrasted harshly with the red foliage exclusive to Nessus terrain. Gargantuan trees sprouted high above the canyon walls, it's leafy vegetation densely packed. Aside from the trees, fronds and vines hung loosely from the top of the canyon. Beneath her boots were small patches of crimson grass that had thinned out where it was most trodden upon. 

There were no other Lightbearers surrounding her in the humble confines of the small meadow. She heard no whooping and hollering of war cries, just the gentle whisper of the wind. She was completely alone and engulfed by the rising walls of the Arcadian Valley. All was quiet. Too quiet. 

Did she somehow transmat to the wrong arena? 

Was this some kind of prank? 

Surely, it wasn't.

Holding a flat hand out before her, she waited for Ghost to appear. Inches above her hand, a small being of light and individuality coalesced together. Ghost's familiar white-orange octahedron shell spun with unspoken complexity. He took a look around before spinning back to her. The Guardian took her right hand, pointing in the air, and shook it back and forth inquiringly. After this, she took her hands, making a thumbs up sign, left before the right. As she pulled her hands apart, the right hand flipped down and around, ending in a point toward herself like a "one". _Where is everyone?_

"Good question, Guardian," he spoke. "I'm not picking up any signals. No friendly chatter even. It appears we're alone."

She made an "o" shape with her hand before sliding her thumb back between the "v" shape of pointer- and middle finger. _O-K._

Ghost nodded and disappeared in a hazy, blue mist of transmatter as he winked out of existence. The Huntress pulled her Ace of Spades from her holster, bringing it forward to a ready position. She crept forward with tentative steps, the gravel shifting softly beneath. Suddenly, Shaxx's voice boomed in her ears like a manifesto of jubilant revelry as he greeted her. 

"Today's match breaks away from our regularly scheduled Crucible program. It's player versus player, a one-on-one battle, anything goes. Good luck Guardian!" 

"Wait!" Ghost's voice interjected.

"What is it?" Shaxx asked before a clicking noise cut off his mic.

"What are the rules?" the little ghost asked with worry.

"There's only one rule. Don't die too many times." Shaxx's voice clicked out, earning an exasperated sigh from Ghost.

"What kind of rule is that?" he inquired with mild displeasure. 

The Huntress shrugged and plunged ahead. Jumping up onto a nearby ledge, she landed with flat feet, and continued prowling the three-way corridor at an even pace. Turning down a long hallway, she found a shaft to her left and a circular platform to her right. She knew this map well as it was embellished on her memory from the days when she was newly resurrected. The Crucible had been a way of immersion, a challenging tool that would guide her along a road of introspection and confidence.

The Guardian heard an almost indistinguishable rustling sound from somewhere behind her. Quickly, she cocked the hammer of her Ace and barrel rolled toward the shaft to her left. Jumping with the agility of a cat, she twisted in the air over the pit and found a tsunami of purple void and concrete raining down upon the corridor. _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ She fired of three shots and found an Exo-Titan running toward her exit with inhuman stamina and a glowing shield to bear. 

A distinct purple plume ran along the top of the helmet and the way the Titan ran screamed full-bodied determination. The game was afoot. She would not hold back, and neither would he. They clashed. They fought. They drove. Their abilities sustained them. For twenty minutes, they fought and dodged. Neither dying, nor gaining advantage. Shaxx screamed delightedly in their ears, giving a referee's progress report every step of the match. "Who will win?!" he kept screaming, his voice on the edge of unrestrained fanaticism. No one knew.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Saint finally yelled to her.

The Huntress didn't reply, though she wanted to say: "It's a Crucible match, Saint. I'm not about to hug a charging Titan!"

"We both know I'm not talking about the Crucible," he yelled, as if aware of what she was thinking. As the Guardian ran to the meadow, she ran to a nearby column, jumped up, and pushed off with the tread of her boot. As she twisted in the air, she found Saint bulldozing his way through where she had just been running before fishtailing to a halt. The two faced off, their abilities taxed, but not drained completely. Maybe she had one last trick up her sleeves. 

"Can't you answer me friend? I have not heard from you in months and here you are avoiding me," he rebuked.

She said nothing as she stowed her Ace of Spades back on the holster. As Titan and Hunter stood like statues, engaging in a war of hard stares, the she-Guardian did her best not to twitch. Both arms were held out on either side of her, readying...itching even...to grab a weapon and fire. 

"What have I done to warrant your self-imposed absence? What have I done to deserve your cold shoulder, Friend?" As he asked more questions, he stowed his shotgun—Perfect Paradox—on his back. 

A part of her wanted to smile, though the other part wanted to stay angry. But how could she? He had kept the symbol of their friendship with him all this time while she was away. She had insisted he hold onto it for safekeeping. By the same token, the Perfect Paradox's symbol was also a sucker punch to the gut. She _was_ guilty of avoiding him. Not because he had done something wrong, but she had. The Huntress was guilty of not facing her feelings and getting hung up on elements outside her control.

Her arms dropped to her sides, her shoulders drooping with defeat. 

"15 seconds," Shaxx yelled over the comm. 

The Guardian responded by putting her left hand up, flat in the vertical position. The thumb of her right hand was placed to the palm of her left, forming an "L" shape. She turned the L to the ground while mouthing " _later_ ".

"10 seconds," Shaxx yelled again.

"No, tell me now," Saint said.

With a fist to her chest, thumb facing up, she made a circle motion. _Sorry._

Before Saint had a chance to say anything, the Huntress drew her Ace and fired a shot. Though she thought she was clever, she wasn't the only one thinking the same. Saint drew his shotgun in the same moment and fired. Both ended the match with a draw. Shaxx was not pleased. 

Back at the Tower, the two discussed the events leading to their duke-it-out-match from the terrace above Shaxx's stall. The sun was now setting on the horizon, a hodgepodge of yellow, orange, red, and deep purple. The Guardian sat on the concrete, legs through the bars of the railing, kicking them nervously over the expanse below. It seemed to be her go-to habit when perched on great heights. Somehow, it brought a level of humility to her. Perhaps it was the picture of such a daring plunge below her. 

That day Saint learned the hand sign for "jealous" and the Huntress regretted it. " _I'm sorry_ ," she finally signed to him.

"Why would you be jealous of me?" he asked.

She corrected him promptly. " _Not you_ ," she signed. Quickly she finger-spelled the letters: A-D-A-1.

"Ah," Saint said, understanding a little more. "Why, Ada then?"

With an embarrassed expression and rosy cheeks, the Huntress admitted something she never thought she would. She signed it quick and sloppily, causing Saint to scratch at his helmet. "Say again?" he asked. Again, she signed, but it was even messier than before. Finally, the Exo-Titan sighed and took hold of her hands. With a gentle touch, he guided her hands into her lap. "Say again?" he repeated firmly, but kindly.

The Guardian sighed. "I saw you with Ada-1 and I heard how you were talking about her. She seemed happy. You seemed happy." With another sigh, she grabbed her hair and leaned forward while resting her forehead to the railing. "It was silly to get upset about, I know, I just thought—" 

Saint busted into laughter, causing the Huntress to pause mid-explanation. With one hand he slapped his knee and the other he used to grab the Guardian by the shoulder. Still laughing, he side-hugged her. "Ada is just friend," he explained. "She had come to see me to find out when you would return. She was planning to surprise you with new armor." As Saint said this, the Guardian's stomach plunged with immediate guilt. "She said she owed you for helping to reacquire her 'Obsidian Drive' some time ago. That was before the crowd came."

The Guardian groaned with a mixture of self-loathing and remorse. "Then, what about the singing?"

Saint laughed again. "She was explaining how she memorized all the codes and processes for making her 'wares'—as she calls them—through song."

“And…the ‘fascinating history’?” the Guardian followed-up with.

“Who doesn’t have a past filled with problems?” he questioned rhetorically while shrugging.

“Fair enough,” she nodded. “Was all of today, you know, with the Crucible to get my attention?”

“Yes and no,” Saint admitted. “I did want to get your attention, but not so boldly. It was Shaxx’s idea.” She smiled slightly. “It worked out in the end though, right?” Playfully, he bumped her shoulder with his. The smile in his voice was contagious and a grin worked its way to her lips. “Now,” he started to say, “why did you not write me for so long? Eh?”

The Guardian grinned as if she had a secret. Getting to her feet, she gave Saint a swift kiss on the cheek and started to walk away. “Oh, just the same reason that I was jealous of Ada.” Saint turned toward her direction to ask a question but remained quiet as the Huntress peered over her shoulder at him. Cheekily she added, “I’ll have to write to you about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was recently watching a Saint-14 video on youtube that goes through all of his "idle chatter". He had so many good lines, and I gotta tell ya...I LOST IT when he started cooing like a pigeon. If you have no clue what I'm talking about, then please...do yourself a favor. Go find this video and watch it. If you're interested, I'll even be willing to post a link in the comments. 
> 
> Anyhow, I got inspired to write another piece of [SaintXGuardian] after watching through the video. And yes, his comment about Ada-1 was legit. I felt compelled to clarify it (not that what I'm saying is canon, lol). Though it should be. ;P
> 
> P.S.  
> [CaydeXAmanda] if you squint.
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty


	3. New Activity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter ran away from me, but it's all good stuff nonetheless. :) Enjoy!  
> ~ProphetessMinty

**New Activity**

* * *

**(Felwinter's Peak//2200)**

Snow fell from the heavens like feathers, dragging against the cool mountain air in elegant descent. In their carefree and earth-bound plunge, their glory was stolen by the bejeweled night sky. Overhead, the stars shone like twinkling diamonds, swathed in hues of varying color: maroon, indigo, violet, gold, rose, and white. Shades of scarlet intermingled the rainbow of luminescent lights in both sparse and dense patches, greatly contrasting the other tones. 

Aqua eyes looked on with simplistic delight, mesmerized with the unique beauty of endless space above. 

From up high on Felwinter's Peak, the wind dared not stir. Even the nightly ritual of howling lullabies, sung by the great wolves, was abandoned for sleepy peace as they laid in the fresh snow. 

Nearby a large, grey wolf lifted its head from the comfort of its extended paws; its ears flicking at the sounds of crunching snow underfoot. The wolf's eyes glimmered and gleamed from the dark shade of the stony temple's eave, nestled between two soaring pillars. The great beast watched from its elevated perch with genuine curiosity as a passerby journeyed up a curving flight of stairs. Satisfied that nothing would disturb its placidity, the nocturnal creature gave a whiny yawn, and rested its head between its forepaws. 

The hem of a gold mantle floated above the ground, undulating in a sort of dance as its wearer jogged the stone steps. _Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap._ Small sconces lit the support columns lining the fortress's towering entrance, their flames lapping at the air with determination. To the right of the top landing, was a v-shaped alcove where two sconces held no flicker of light. The small braziers inlaid into the waist-high wall were smoldering. Bits of charcoal glowed with muted scarlet and orange within its stone captivity, begging to be lit once more.

Where a lordly sentinel would have stood watch, a small poker rested point down against the barrier. Beyond the alcove came the amber glow of a healthy fire only some feet below. Though the heat was subtle, followed by puffs of ashen smoke clouds, the fire had caused parts of the landing to be covered in deeper shadow. The lone wanderer turned from the vacant place and headed into the temple foyer as he passed between the towering pillars on either side. 

Delving deeper into the grand hallways bathed in torchlight, the mantle wearer passed by large, stony statues depicting lordly figures resting their hands upon the hilts of downward-facing axes. His steps echoed loudly against the rising walls, like an announcement to the confines of the iron sanctuary saying: " _I'm here!_ " He carried on like this until he entered a large circular chamber. 

In the center of the room, stood a burly man clad in gold and silver armor with hands held behind his back. Attached to his hefty pauldron was a thick, black pelt that rested on his shoulders and fell away into a long, black cloak. The hem of the mantle had long since torn and frayed from its religious use. The old Titan stared into the crackling flames of a brazier that had been built into the floor, as if he could resurrect an answer to all his life's questions from their fiery depths. His gaze was intense, and his stance matched the same level of firmness.

"Everything is ready for tomorrow," came a soft, mechanical voice. 

The lordly sentinel took a one-eyed peek over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the fire. Nodding he said, "Thank you, Shiro." 

The Hunter bowed his head, the cowl of his mantle dipping forward with the gesture. As an awkward pause came between the two of them, Shiro brought a gloved hand to his neck. The soft leather rubbed back and forth against the cool, black steel as he massaged the area. It was a nervous habit he had started to develop when the conversation between them went stale. Unfortunately, the Exo found himself doing this more and more, since their Lady-companion left them during the Red War. 

The young Huntress had done all the talking, leaving the two of the men to listen. Whether they wanted to listen or not, was a different story all together. These days the only sounds within the temple were unsaid words and crackling fires. Lady Efrideet had a loud presence, but her absence was even louder. Deafening, even. 

"Should I douse the fires in the morning, Lord Saladin?" he asked. 

The grizzly man turned, his shoulder pelts rustling with the action. As he shook his head, he sighed with a gravelly voice. "No, I think not. Though Lady Efrideet no longer attends to them, they have remained lit since her departure. I cannot bear to see them grow cold." As Saladin finished speaking, his eyes had a faraway look. Even though he was looking at the Hunter, Lord Saladin was not truly seeing him, just the phantom of the past in his mind’s eye.

Shiro remained quiet, not willing to admit that the sconces at the Titan's post had long died out. The former Warlord was a simple man, but one that reserved special admiration for the old ways and treasured the memories thereof. Thus, his particular nature could prove—overwhelming—if trifled with. The last thing Shiro wanted was to tread upon Saladin lightly or apathetically, not without good reason. The Exo-Hunter silently promised himself he would return the flame to the small braziers forthwith when he left the inner sanctuary of the temple.

"Very well," Shiro finally answered. "In the morning, I can help set up your vending stall. But afterwards, I'll need to report to the Vanguard. Though they're dealing with—other—matters presently," he faltered, "they grow curious as to the state of Fallen and SIVA-related activities." He also added, "I would not be surprised if they try their best to keep me." 

"Understood," the Titan answered soberly. "Thank you."

As Shiro turned to leave, Saladin called after him. The mantle wearer stopped, taking a quick look over his shoulder. "Perhaps we will see an old friend of ours tomorrow—The Young Wolf."

"Perhaps," the Hunter managed, before striding away in silence.

* * *

**(Vanguard Hall//0530)**

“As of now, there has been no new activity within the Plaguelands,” Shiro reported. “SIVA is effectively quarantined.”

“And how are things with Devrim?” The wizened Warlock-Vanguard inquired. Her chocolate brown eyes were filled with questions but softened along with her voice. “The activity around the old bunker has me…concerned.” As she spoke, her eyes shifted to the burly Awoken man looking out the vast window with a grand view of the Last City below. “The Cabal are a creative bunch. And I—I don’t want any more Golden Age tech to come into their possession.”

The Titan said nothing as his hands came down to his sides, fingers flexing. As the Exo cast a vigilant expression toward Zavala, he realized the Awoken seemed stiff and on edge. This was obviously a sore topic between the two figureheads. He sighed lightly; their teamwork needed teamwork. 

“Does Devrim have everything he needs?” the Warlock finally asked.

“Yes, Ikora,” Shiro answered, his thoughts coming back to the present. “He and his company have plenty of supplies to last them. And, as I understand it, _the_ Lady Guardian pays them routine visits. They are in good hands, even with the rise of activity within the European Dead Zone.”

A small smile came to Ikora’s dark lips, her eyes gleaming with pride. “That they are.”

“If you will excuse me,” Shiro began, “I have some things to attend to.”

Ikora gave an understanding nod, “Until we meet again—”

“What about our offer?” Zavala asked, his question startling his companions. “You have dodged giving us a proper answer for far too long now. Ikora may not push you on this matter, but I will.” The Warlock grimaced, her lips a flat line of irritation and disapproval at her sudden mention. “What will it be? Will you join us as the next Hunter-Vanguard or not? If not, then we will keep looking.”

“I…,” Shiro started to say, but trailed off. His words escaped him and the spot he was in had turned awkward. He fell silent, he couldn’t defend himself from the obvious truth. He had been avoiding them for some time.

“If it’s Cayde you’re concerned about, then you have nothing to fear,” Ikora soothed. “We know you’re not him and he may have left behind a large—the point is…you’ll do a great job.” She smiled, though the expression was far from happy. “The fact of the matter is: things will be tough. I’ll grant you that,” she confessed. “Even more so since the Hunters have been without a leader for some time now. Their morale is weaning. Give us an answer by the end of the day…if you could. It is very important.”

Shiro sighed, he knew this was coming and there was no way around it. “Very well. I’ll let you know, but for now, I’ll stand by my initial opinion. I think Ana is the better option.”

Ikora frowned. 

Zavala remained unreadable.

* * *

**(The Hangar//0600)**

It was the dawn of early morning when the Guardian ventured to the hangar to visit Saint-14. The Huntress only had the day to spare before her latest orders would take her to Martian terrain by noon tomorrow. Wasting no time, she hurried along the corridor with two, freshly brewed cups of coffee in her hands. The deep smell of nutty perfection danced around her nose, her mouth salivating in response. As she briskly walked past several sparrows suspended on jacks, her hazel eyes swept across the floor with excitement. 

The copper haired Lightbearer had hoped to catch up with Saint-14 since the weekend had proved a little impossible for the both of them. He was busy preparing for the Trials of Osiris, an activity he would be hosting this season. The Titan had become swamped with data gathering and coordination efforts that brought him back and forth between the Tower and Mercury. Picking arenas was not an easy task, or so it had seemed. Saint had even told her that he had to impose light level caps as not all potential players would be suitable for the event. 

That was the last she had heard from him and she couldn't blame him. She had been just as busy and consumed with patrolling the European Dead Zone. The Vanguard had tasked her with heightening security as Cabal activity had increased since their latest stunt with " _The Almighty_ " _._ For the time being, there was a warship-sized missile headed straight for the Last City, causing her superiors to go on edge. They were—extra twitchy—to say the least. 

The Guardian's status effectively changed to "on-call" for an indefinite amount of time until the situation was resolved. For a natural-born soloist, the constant open communication between multiple parties for field-activities was becoming more and more exhausting. Especially when work-related relationships were slowly crumbling in the wake of Cayde's untimely absence. To call it "difficult" was a bit of an understatement. 

If she didn’t see Saint today, then she wouldn’t see him for the rest of the week. The thought made her frown. That made her need to see him all-the-more desperate and determined. Maybe today would be the day she worked up the courage to talk to him. To tell him more plainly about how she felt. She blushed at the thought, almost dropping the cups in her hands as a nervous tremble coursed through her. Perhaps it was too soon. She sighed. Was it even okay for her to like him? She wasn't breaking any rules, was she? There weren't any rules forbidding her...right? She tried to gulp, but her mouth had gone dry with unrealistic panic. What if he didn't think of her that way? The Huntress's stomach plummeted to the Earth's core as the dread of rejection taunted her.

The Guardian shook the line of thought from her head, chuckling under her breath. " _This is ridiculous_ ," she thought, " _what's wrong with me?_ " Of course, she was being silly.

As she ambled up the stairs past Amanda’s vacant mechanic shop, the Guardian stopped in her tracks. Her social call had been short lived as she found the stall dark and sans Exo. Another frown came to her pink lips. " _He's gone again_ ," she thought. Looking to her hands she sighed. What was she going to do with the second cup of coffee? Walking back down the stairs, she stopped by the Shipwright’s workbench and left a note with a cup on top. At least it wouldn’t go to waste. Amanda was as much a coffee-nut as she was. 

With a small smile, she journeyed back to the courtyard.

As she plunged up the last flight of stairs and to the catwalk sheltered by the overhang, two male Guardians rushed past her in unbridled hurry. When she looked up to see what the ruckus was, a third Lightbearer bumped shoulders with her, quickly melting into the crowd ahead. The coffee that had been in her hands was now on the pavement, the steam rising in small waves as the heat dissipated. With an exasperated sigh, she bent down and grabbed the cup. 

“It’s starting!” someone roared excitedly.

“Iron Banner is back!” another yelled.

The Guardian rose to her feet and suddenly she was less disheartened about the spilled drink. A grin came to her lips and its passion spread to her glittering eyes. Maybe she could catch a couple rounds today since she couldn't find Saint. As she thought of all the arenas she could go to, igniting the braziers in Control Zones with her fellow Guardians, she grew even more excited.

“ _I gotta get to my Vault!_ ” she yelled internally.

Sparing not a second further, she whisked ahead, dodging between people with care. As she ran past Master Rahool—the Cryptarch—and his corner stall, she tripped over a roll away, blue engram. The Guardian skipped a couple steps, tottering in place, before plunging toward the ground. “Heads up!” someone yelled. Crashing forward in an ungainly heap of embarrassment, the Huntress collided with an unforgiving wall of steel, Exo-chassis.

Strong hands caught her by the pauldrons, steadying her to her feet before letting go. The Guardian rubbed at her nose, frustration welling up from within her. Quickly and without question, she shot a dirty look to the very thing that caused her pain.

"How's your focus, Guardian?" the familiar voice chuckled. Suddenly her irritation melted away into complete surprise as she slapped her cheeks. Standing before her was a long-time friend she hadn't seen for many seasons. Not since the time she dealt with the resurgence of an old plague known as SIVA.

The face plates that shaped his forehead and cheeks were the color of mustard gold. They greatly contrasted the matte black color of his mouth and lower jaw. His optics glowed aqua and reminded her of pictures she had seen of a healthy tropical sea. On his neck he wore a red-orange scarf that rested loosely on top of a black, armored vest. The leather was riddled with beveled, orange beads, the texture evocative of a raspberry's pitted flesh.

As a smile grew on her lips, giving way to a toothy grin, she recognized the unique golden mantle he donned. It was a one-of-a-kind masterpiece that had been stitched together with the banners belonging to the House of Kings. There was only one Guardian—a Vanguard Scout—who wore the rags so boldly, and gloriously. In her exuberance, she mouthed his name. _Shiro?_ She could hardly believe it. He was here! The Huntress grinned like a fox as she leaped forward, taking the Exo-Hunter into a tight hug.

"Hey! Hey! That's enough," he laughed, his voice embarrassed as he tried shoving her away. She obliged, letting go quickly before holding herself with a nervous smile. "Maintain your focus, Lady Guardian!" he chastised playfully while dusting off his chest.

With raised eyebrows and a happy expression, the Huntress brought her hands together in front of her chest. Both hands were slightly cupped into a c-shape, knuckles lightly touching. She rolled the gesture forward, palms up, before pointing to her friend. _How are you_?

The Exo placed a flat hand to his chest, then took the fingers of his right hand, placing them to his mouth. As he did this, he guided his gloved hand into the palm of his left. _I'm good._ Then pointing to her, he gave an inquisitive expression. _You?_

The Guardian repeated the same sequence. _I’m good._

“I really don’t know why you still insist on signing. It would make things a lot simpler,” he poked, "if you talked."

She shrugged sheepishly.

“You, uh, look different from when I last saw you,” he said awkwardly.

She placed a flat hand to her chest with a quizzical look. _Me?_

He chuckled, “Yes, you.”

She made a quick series of gestures in response after holding a lock of hair and looking to the armor she wore. _Nothing has changed, but my armor._

Shiro chuckled again, “No, no. Trust me, you’ve changed. It’s the confidence I sense in you.” Playfully he punched her arm and added, “It looks good.”

The Huntress smiled as a gentle heat rose to her cheeks and she playfully slapped at the air. She responded by mouthing: _Oh, stop._ The Exo grinned like a wolf, his mechanical joints moving in the process. “ _What are you doing here?_ ” she signed.

“Officially, Vanguard duty,” he answered. “Unofficially, helping Lord Saladin set up for the Iron Banner.”

She nodded understandingly. Taking both hands, she placed them side-by-side in front of her. The Guardian then flipped them toward herself with palms outward and fingers back-to-back. Extending her left arm, she took the pointer finger of her right hand and traced it up her arm. _How long?_

“I’ve got all day if you do,” he said with an even tone.

The Huntress motioned to sign an answer, but stopped short when someone called out her name. Looking over her shoulder, she became promptly preoccupied as a bulky Titan with a familiar purple plume on his helmet headed her way. She smiled from ear-to-ear and waved, relieved that she could see him today after all. As Saint-14 boisterously made his way to the pair of Hunters, the crowd of Guardians swiftly parted and reformed behind him. His presence continued to instill a sense of awe in all the newer Lightbearers at the Tower and it hit her afresh. His deeds were like a mane of glory and honor, and she couldn't help but bask in the glow of it. Perhaps, that was the infatuation talking. Awkwardly, she brought her hand down, trying her best not to look like an idiot.

“Ah, Friend! There you are. I have been looking for you,” he said with arms wide open. Quickly, he scooped the Huntress up in a spine-cracking hug as he about squeezed the life out of her.

“Saint,” she gasped lowly, patting at his back anxiously. The Huntress’s voice was low enough for only him to hear. She wasn’t ready for the world to know she was speaking again. Not yet at least.

“I thought we could catch up, but it appears you are busy,” Saint said with a frown. As he set the Guardian to her feet, he eyed her companion suspiciously. “And who is this Hunter wearing scraps?” he asked rather intrigued as he stepped forward.

The Exo-Hunter crossed his arms as he shifted his stance. “The name’s Shiro...Shiro-4.”

“Ah! You’re the Iron Banner assistant,” Saint boomed happily.

“And you must be Osiris’s assistant…the one I keep hearing about,” Shiro responded innocently. The Guardian could feel that the banter was a bit awkward, but was decidedly undiminished in her excitement at seeing her good friends. 

She clapped a hand on each of their shoulders and pressed them toward a flight of stairs that would take them to Lord Saladin. The Exos moved awkwardly at first, not catching on until the Guardian pointed upward. Bringing her right hand in front of herself, she pointed between the three of them with a sweeping gesture. The Guardian brought that same hand in front of her mouth, folding a relaxed thumb over her palm. As she extended the other four fingers, she began wiggling them in front of her mouth. _Let's talk_. Then bringing her left hand palm up in front of herself, she began wiggling the pointer and middle finger of her right hand back and forth. The motion looked like two legs walking on top of her hand. _Walk._

Both Exos shared a final stare before obliging her request, plunging toward their newfound destination. “Ha! So, you have heard of me. I am Saint-14. They call me the greatest Titan who ever lived.” the Titan spoke, resuming their cheeky banter. 

“Seems like an unnecessarily long title for someone who needed rescuing from the ‘Corridors of Time’,” Shiro complained under his breath. “Unusual tactics for an unusual Titan, such as yourself.”

“What did you say? I could hardly hear you, you are so small. It’s okay. It is…useful quality,” Saint quipped.

The Guardian rolled her eyes as she shook her head. The guys continued their posturing when she left them behind to talk with Lord Saladin. The lordly sentinel was happy to see her when she walked up. They conversed with Ghost’s interpretive help, making the discussion more fruitful and efficient. The Huntress grew disheartened in their discussion when the Iron Lord said it would be near impossible to match the three of them up within the games. His most reiterated point was that having either of them or all three of them on a single team would, in some minds, be considered cheating.

She sighed as she walked back to the guys.

“What is wrong, Friend?” Saint asked as he put a hand on her shoulder.

The copper haired Lightbearer began quickly signing a series of gestures. _We can’t play Iron Banner together. Basically “cheating”_.

“I was wondering what you were up to,” Shiro answered. Ensuring that he wasn’t outdone, he placed a hand on the Guardian’s free shoulder. “Perhaps we should redirect our focus…find something else to do.” As he said this, Shiro stared into the strip of purple light on Saint’s helmet. The Guardian shook her head as she realized the Exos' rivalry wouldn't come to an end so easily. What had she gotten herself into?

“Or perhaps,” Saint began, “we could host our own matches.”

The Guardian’s eyebrow shot up inquisitively, a small smirk stretching across her lips. She liked where this was going. “ _How?_ ” she signed.

“Yeah, what she said,” Shiro pointed toward the Huntress. “How?”

Saint folded his arms across his chest. “You’ll see.”

* * *

**(Bannerfall//1200)**

Since early morning, the trio had chased each other around Bannerfall, in a one-verses-one-verses-one match. It was like the Crucible, but there were no flags involved. It was purely fighting based. As much as their mutually set rules were simple, the application was a different story. The guys resorted to all out combat with one another, completely ignoring her. She used that to her advantage, by setting traps and sniping.

It worked well, until they got the hint. 

For the last hour, she had been honing her skills in extreme stealth. Anywhere from hiding on roof tops or going invisible via a smoke bomb. She couldn’t help but laugh under her breath from where she stood. The muzzle of her Maestro-46 nestled in the crook of a window, neatly hidden by the shadows. As she looked through her sniper’s scope, she watched Shiro-4 jogging toward the far end of the corridor with caution. Training her scope on him, she aligned her shot with practiced dexterity.

The Guardian’s finger hovered over the trigger as she hesitated to shoot her target. While deliberating her next move, the sound of footsteps caught her attention and she whipped her head around in reaction. Hazel eyes looked upon a familiar silver and purple helmet mere inches away from her nose. In reaction, she inhaled to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. Saint began to laugh, but it was low enough for just the two of them to hear.

“I got you,” he chuckled.

She blushed as the reactionary fear subsided. A gentle heat spread over her cheeks and ears, before running down her spine. The sound of blood rushed to her ears as her heart began to skip. In natural Saint-fashion, he remained unreadable behind his helmet. The Guardian didn’t know what he was thinking, much less what she was thinking. Her thoughts were scattered between a million and one rationalizations—good and bad. 

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Thinking,” he said.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her tone hushed. 

“I believed you would find me, back then,” he answered thoughtfully. “Hope is a powerful tool.”

“And now?” she gulped nervously. “What does your ‘hope’ get you?”

“I believed I could find you. That’s what I had hoped for,” Saint whispered, somewhere between joy and thrill.

Below them, they heard footsteps _tip-tapping_ up the stairs. Saint was distracted as he looked behind himself. The Guardian took that moment to jump out the window, leaving behind the small moment between them. She wasn’t sure how to take it and perhaps, she wasn’t supposed to take it as anything. Her heart raced and it wasn’t because she was running. 

She thought back to the first time they met—officially. In her mind’s eye she could picture him at his most desperate hour, inside the Ward he had cast around himself. Even though he had been outnumbered by his enemies, and worry was laced in his voice, he continued to guard his foothold. Not willing to bow out or succumb to the pressures around him. Saint was true to his nature: a Titan with the world on his shoulders.

The Guardian had believed she could find him, and she tried her hardest to hope for the best possible outcome in the Corridors of Time. She fought tooth and nail to get to him and it was that same tenacity that brought them through. Why he was bringing this up now, she wasn’t sure. Part of her was happy and the other, afraid. 

Afraid that what he said meant something entirely different from what she felt.

As she ran around a corner, a force of steel tackled her to the ground. The Guardian and her opponent rolled several feet in a tangled mess of grappling defense. Coming to a stop, she found herself pinned to the cobblestoned ground, under a tall tree with red leaves. Shiro sat on top of her with a knife to her throat and a victorious smile on his face. It didn’t last long, as the two of them were squashed under the weight of Saint, as he dog piled on top. The trio was now in a heap of pain and laughter. 

“You guys are heavy,” she huffed aloud.

“Hey, you spoke!” Shiro yelled with shock.

“Uh oh,” Saint said as he watched a Swarm Grenade split apart into multiple drones.

“Uh oh,” Shiro repeated. 

The Huntress smiled as they exploded.

* * *

**(Spicy Ramen Shop//1600)**

After the trio had their fill of friendly warfare, they stopped in at the Spicy Ramen Shop. They ate their fill of noodles, enjoying each other’s company, until they paid the bill. Duty was calling to each of them, begging that they part ways. Shiro sighed, knowing he had procrastinated visiting the Vanguard long enough. Saying their farewells, the Exo turned to leave, but halted as Saint called out for him.

Shiro turned to regard the Titan, but found his jovial qualities were exchanged for something more serious. “Listen friend—,” Saint began, but stopped as the Hunter held up a hand. The burly Exo remained quiet and unreadable.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Shiro started.

“And?” Saint asked.

“Welcome to the party,” he answered. “She’ll make you lose focus.”

“Will it ever stop?” the Titan inquired.

Shiro smirked, “Nope.”

"Will you ever stop?” Saint asked, stepping forward.

The Hunter walked over and planted his feet firmly where he stood, facing his newest rival without hesitation. His eyes studied Saint’s helmet, sizing up all the possibilities in his head. “Till next time, Saint,” he half answered before walking away. “Stay alert.”

Shiro plunged ahead in silence, making his way to the Vanguard Hall while casting away his thoughts on the matter. “ _Maintain focus_ ,” he thought to himself. As he entered the giant double doors, he found Zavala and Ikora staring after him. Their gazes were hopeful and filled with questions. He walked up to the long table in the middle of the room and pulled a chair out for himself.

“Let’s get right to business, shall we?” he declared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Saintly Saint vs Good Doggo. Who's the good boy this round? Hmmmm...  
> ~ProphetessMinty


	4. Corridors of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I told myself I wasn't going to do this to myself...and I did anyways. {cries} I wrote this up because I apparently like to make myself cry. TT____TT Enjoy the feels!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Corridors of Dreams**

* * *

_Stand in the middle and you'll see both sides_

_A tombstone at the center you'll take in strides_

_Don't get too close or you'll see inside_

_Life and Death are tied, side-by-side_

_A eulogy of grim defeat Death will sing_

_The sword of hope lays a broken thing_

_In the aftermath of great events you'll cling_

_To the life of the one who took the sting_

_Here lies a hero of Awoken, Exo, and Men_

_Their Ghost and companion in lifeless zen_

_Time is an unraveling paradox every now and then_

_Perhaps in paracausal dreams we will meet again_

_This is the odyssey of Pigeon and Phoenix_

_The loop of their journey not yet at its zenith_

_Do not shed a tear for their story is like a helix_

_Quantum entanglement unfurls in daring remix_

_Where two part ways going counterclockwise_

_They will complete the circle and harmonize_

_Like Sun and Moon, they pass by as allies_

_Where one dies, the other may rise_

* * *

_There was no ground beneath her naked feet, only light. She was standing on the impossible, made possible. There were no walls around her, only endless space of white something-ness. She chuckled, the corner of her mouth lifting toward the thoughts of irony. Everyday people panic in the wake of darkness—nothingness. Afraid of what they might hear or may not see. Darkness is loud and blinding. But here in the non-void, a place of total something-ness, she was both seeing and deaf. Though something deep in her core told her the place would echo angelically, if only she could listen._

_Darkness and light cannot mingle, there is no in between._

_The two are complete opposites, repelling each other like a pair of magnets. Though her feet propelled forward with willful boldness, she was at their mercy. She could not direct, only observe. There was no desire in her to move on, but to explore the expanse around herself. Alas, she settled into the idea that she was only here for the ride's experience. Down the corridor she walked, traversing the road of light that threaded through a pyramid doorway. Each room beyond was similar, but different. At the center was a tree with stone steps that descended around it in the shape of a hexagon. In the next room, the set up was similar, but no tree._

_Each destination held parallel realities and something about this struck her as odd. Why did this place seem so familiar? Her feet led the way, not leaving much time to think._

_Before each triangular doorway stood a pillar with distinct markings of their own. Quietly, she circled the room, diligently observing the symbols until she came full circle._

_Clover. Diamond. Snake. Plus. Hexagon._

_The shapes meant nothing to her, but they were important to the something-ness. Looking up to the pillar standing in front of the doorway she would walk through, she noticed the symbol had blurred. Discarding the trivial detail, she pressed on. Hallway to room to hallway and room again was the pattern she repeated in an unending loop. A part of her thought she was lost until she descended a flight of steps. As she journeyed their depths, gentle whispering greeted her ears in phantom kisses._

_Someone called to her. They spoke her name. The way they spoke was like a bold anthem, but their sound was orchestral melancholy. Another paradox. Coming to the end of the stairs, her naked feet stepped out onto the something-ness that surrounded a small, circular island with a stone tomb at its center. The familiar voice grew louder, as did the hammering of her heart. For the first time, she felt coolness under her feet as she walked on rock and grass._

_"Thank you for coming," the voice spoke with an echo. "We've gathered here today to celebrate the life of my mentor. My inspiration."_

_"They called her 'Crota's End'..."_

* * *

From the depths of sleep, the Guardian screamed herself into the land of the living. The gasps were hard and the breath unsatisfying. Her hand flung up to her chest, griping tightly to the fabric of her shirt as she trembled. A cold sweat had set upon her, dampening her chest-length hair with natural oils. Swinging her legs over the side of her mattress, the Huntress scooted forward in a hunch. She rested her arms crisscross over her knees as she pressed her forehead against her arms.

" _Breathe_ ," she reminded herself, " _Just breathe. It was only a dream_."

She stayed liked this for a small time, until she felt the weight of cool metal rest upon her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" her ghost had asked.

"I'm—I'm fine, Ghost," she reassured with a shake in her voice. "It was just a dream." As she said this, she raked a trembling hand through her copper tresses and sighed. "It was only a dream. Thank the Traveler it was only a dream."

"You've been at it almost every night this week," Ghost stated with concern. "Perhaps you should talk with someone."

She laughed dryly. "It's just a dream."

"Dreams like this...this is no ordinary dream, is it? There's something you're not telling me," he chided.

"Everything is fine, Ghost. You'll see," she soothed, as she pulled him from her shoulder. The sprightly octahedron floated just above her cupped hands, his spikes twirling and twitching over his blue optic. Though he said nothing, his actions spoke volumes. The Guardian brought cupped hands toward herself and kissed Ghost lightly before he winked out of existence. The creature of light was worried and skeptical, but he trusted her judgment. She gave a small smile to the place where he had been and then stood up.

Walking to the door of her apartment, she pulled an olive-green mantle off a peg and slung it over her shoulders. The fabric was soft like silk and light in comparison to the pelt resting where her pauldrons would have been. The fur was thick and bushy, reminding her of the wolves of Felwinter's Peak. The fur tickled the skin of her neck as she moved, causing her to lightly scratch the sensation away. The Huntress let the hood hang down as she slipped her feet into a pair of knee-high boots. Exiting her small domicile, the lights turned off behind her as she strode down the corridor. 

Digging into the pockets of her black shorts for glimmer, she walked onto an elevator and rode it to the top. Upon exiting, she walked a couple feet forward toward a vending machine with a bowl of ramen painted on the glass. Placing the glimmer into the deposit slot, she waited for her purchase. Behind the glass, the machine turned levers and cogs before dropping a small Styrofoam cup under a spicket that poured out hot water. Moments later, a slot in the side of the machine opened up and the Guardian took her food. 

She pulled a small, wooden set of chopsticks from the side of the container as she walked down the hall. Making a couple turns and descending down a small flight of steps, she walked into the Bazaar district. She took a seat on a nearby set of crates on the terrace where Ikora normally tenders. It was late evening and the Warlock-Vanguard was most likely asleep in her quarters, deep within the tower. The night was lonely, hardly anyone was out, save for the rare few people who occasionally passed by the small Ramen Shop. 

The Guardian crisscrossed her legs as she plunged her chopsticks into her cup of ramen. She stirred them about before pinching some noodles from the broth. She blew a cooling breath and then took a tentative bite. The flavor was chicken and it was exactly the salty flavor she craved on nights like these. She enjoyed the comfort as she pulled the tail of her mantle over her legs. A small breeze blew by and she delighted in its refreshing quality with a sigh. This moment was far better than when she first woke up.

A small tremble worked through her as she took another bite of ramen. Suddenly the salty flavor and the mushy texture of hot noodles, turned dry and ashy. With a hard gulp, she put the food aside and brought her knees to her chest. With a groan, she hung her head as she hugged her legs tightly. " _Ghost was right_ ," she thought to herself, " _maybe I should talk to someone._ " As she ran the suggestion through her head, the sound of approaching footsteps brought her back to the present. Looking up, she found a familiar silver and purple clad Titan staring at her with perplexity. 

"I thought that was you, Friend," he said with a sigh. "You've been coming to this spot almost every night now."

The Huntress frowned. " _He's been watching me?_ " A small blush came to her cheeks and she hid her face in her knees. "Why are you here?" she asked, her voice muffled.

"Ah, so the Guardian chooses to speak tonight. Tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure," he chuckled.

"Not now Saint," she spoke lugubriously, tears threatening her eyes. 

"What? What is this?!" Saint retorted with a baffled expression. He strode over to the Huntress's side and took a seat on the crate she hunkered down upon. The trunk squeaked in protest under their combined weight, but held, nonetheless. "Is something wrong, Friend?" he asked with concern. Taking his left hand, he placed it gently upon her shoulder, squeezing her to himself. She fell into the side-embrace willingly while holding onto her knees, taking in the comfort of the action. The tremors worked through her and her teeth chattered as if she was cold. "What has stolen your peace, Guardian?"

She sighed, a nervous chuckle following suit. "Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about," the Huntress justified, the statement erecting a wall between them.

"Nothing—nothing to worry about?" Saint's Russian accent suddenly thickening with frustration. "You are not 'nothing'," he countered. "Don't say things like that. It...it makes me a little...," he began to explain, but dropped off. "This—this is not about me. Now answer question. What is wrong?"

The Huntress cocked her head to look at him, from where she was so delicately nestled against his pauldron and neck. Her hazel eyes were deep with concern, as she studied the helmet that hid his face. "Why do you always wear this helmet?" she complained, deflecting his question. 

"The same reason you don’t normally talk,” he countered.

The Guardian’s eyebrow shot up, as she fought a smirk. She lost as it gave way to a small grin.

“How about this. If you answer my question, then I will take it off…if that's what you want," he offered. 

Nodding, she said, "I've been having the same dream almost every night for the past week. It's silly. I know it's not real, but...but it feels...it feels like reality."

"What is this dream?" he coaxed as he moved to unlatch his helmet. The sound of pressurized air greeted the Guardian's ears with a sharp hiss as the helmet was fully removed.

"It's like a memory or a vision...," she hesitated, "of my death. There's a tombstone in the Corridors of Time where I've been laid to rest."

Saint sighed, "We all die eventually you know."

"I know that," she answered. "But...it's hard hearing your voice. You're the one giving my...my eulogy." As she said this, tears beaded down her pale cheeks, falling into strands of copper hair that had stuck to her cheeks. "I can't help but think—"

"Don't," he answered quickly, pulling her head back down to him. A slight breeze washed over them as it rustled fallen leaves along the cobblestoned street. They stayed like that for a time, saying nothing as he hugged her to him. "I do not know what the future holds," he finally spoke, "but, you can trust I will stay by your side. You give me your burdens and I will give you mine. It is what friends do. We are team, no?" The Huntress laughed as she rubbed the tears out of her eyes. Saint put a hand under her chin, lightly directing her to look upon him.

She laughed as a fresh stream of tears fell. Under the moonlight they glistened like jewels, as they trailed down to her chin before plunging to the grey fabric of her shirt. He swiped a gentle thumb over her chin, erasing the moisture like one erased the stroke of a pencil. “Everything will be okay,” he reassured. “If you taught me anything, then it is this: we make our own destiny.”

She cried and the sensation was as foreign to her as the frightened look on Saint’s face. Then she laughed. The Guardian was a mix of sadness and laughter and it came out in half-cries and half-laughs. “I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be better than this,” she choked.

“If you are always strong, then how can you be inspired?” he asked.

The Huntress sniffed and swiped the back of her fist under her nose.

“How can you learn and grow?” Saint continued questioning.

She said nothing, but continued listening to the wisdom in his words.

“Even a flower blooms in adversity,” he added wisely. “It just takes courage.”

“You’re right,” she agreed with a sniff.

“Much may be asked of you,” he stated, “but the weight of the world does not rest on your shoulders. Do not put it there.”

“Saint…,” she started to say, “thank you.” As she said this, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She hugged him and did her best to ignore the embarrassed emotion she felt rising within. The Guardian let go and placed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Sorry,” she apologized nervously. “I don’t mean to bombard you with my problems or…get carried away.”

Saint chuckled, “You are no problem to me. As I said earlier, it is what friends do. Share their problems.”

“Yeah…friends,” she sighed dreamily as she became distracted by his sweetness. “You’ve been a good one to me. Thank you,” she said as she gave a small smile. As the Huntress said the words, she realized the pang of hurt in her chest began to sprout with disappointment. He didn’t seem to return the feelings she had. It wasn’t his fault, but it was hers for reading too much into their conversation.

“I should—I should probably get going,” she said standing to her feet. “Gotta…gotta go put muffins in the dryer,” the Huntress explained as her neurons misfired somewhere between twitterpation and hopes dashed.

“Muffins?” he asked.

“Muffins? Muffins?! Who said muffins?” she asked with a nervous laugh. As she backed up, she tripped over her own feet and fell backwards with a loud squeak. The burly Titan sprang forward reflexively, catching her tightly in his arms. The Guardian’s eyes were squeezed shut and tentatively she opened them. Her hazel eyes met his own dual colored optics; one white, one purple. A gentle heat rose to her cheeks and she tapped at his shoulder. “Th—thank you for catching me. You can let me go now,” she chuckled nervously.

“Why do you do that?” he asked.

“Do…do what?” she asked coyly.

“Get close and yet, run so far away?” As he responded to her question, his eyes looked to her lips for a moment and back. She opened her mouth to speak, but a round of whistling somewhere beyond them caught them off guard. The two of them looked toward the Ramen Shop and found a trio of Guardians hanging onto each other in a tipsy stupor.

“Hey!” one of them called. “What—what are you doing out here at this—this time of day?”

“Go home!” the second yelled.

“Kiss already!” the third griped.

The Huntress scrambled to her feet as Saint composed himself by swiping at his suddenly dusty armor. Out of reaction, she grabbed the Titan by the wrist and pulled him along as she ran. The pair made it to the elevator and rode it down several floors in awkward silence. The doors opened after a moment with a soft chime as they exited. She led the way, following the corridor’s path, until they came to a door on the left at the end of the hall. The placard next to the doorframe read “7777”.

Looking to him, she let go of his wrist as she cleared her throat with an awkward cough. “This—this is my place.” She pressed a four-digit code into the keypad and after a moment, the mechanical door slid back on its track. The moment she entered in, she shrugged off her mantle and hung it back up on the peg.

“You’re welcome to come in,” she said with a grunt as she fought to remove her boots.

He chuckled while leaning on the doorframe, “It is quite late. I should let you rest.”

The Huntress dropped her boots underneath her hanging mantle and frowned. She knew it was true, it was very late. Or rather, early in fact. She smiled and nodded in understanding. “Good night then,” the Guardian yawned. “Thank you for listening to me, I know I was a little out of sorts,” she sighed, “but it really meant a lot.”

The Titan nodded, “You are most welcome.” He stepped forward and wrapped her in a gentle hug. She returned the gesture happily. As she went to move away, the Huntress found that he did not. She stayed still, until he leaned back to look at her. He smiled and rested his forehead to her own. “Good night,” he said, reluctant to leave. “I am, always here if you need me.”

She smiled, “Saint…”

“Hmm?” he answered. “What is it?”

The Guardian thought through all of their earlier conversation and couldn’t help the swell of happiness bursting in her heart. Sure, she was afraid to tell him. Terrified even. But she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t like not telling him what he should have known a while ago. She sighed, unsatisfied with the thought-traffic raging war against her mind.

Should she tell him? Should she not? She sighed again. Why was this so difficult?

He chuckled under his breath, the sound making a soft rumble in his chest. “I know what you are thinking,” he said softly.

She blushed.

He motioned to say something, but his mouth quickly shut. It was as if he was rethinking what to say. Then he smiled. “Why did you not make Saint those muffins?” he laughed.

The Guardian giggled softly, covering a hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that,” she said, mentally chastising herself in the process.

Saint let go of her, his hands dropping to his sides. “Good night,” he said, his expression one of hopefulness and regret.

“Good night,” she replied and watched him walk down the hall. Before the door closed, she thought she heard him say he needed to punch something. She laughed as she crawled back into bed, her thoughts swirling with the highs and lows of her late-night adventures. “ _He’s right_ ,” she thought, “ _we make our own destiny._ ”

Her thoughts drifted off into the lullabies of sleep. The something-ness did not return to her and was long forgotten. It would be some time before the Corridors of Time would call her again. As the night turned to morning, her dreams became peaceful and full of hope. Dreams wrapped in silver and purple were worth more than gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S.  
> I've got plenty more ideas ahead for the next chapters. However, I don't mind taking suggestions. :) Feel free to leave one if there's a topic that you'd like me to write about.
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty


	5. Forgiven, Not Forsaken (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is it that the best kept secrets are often discovered in the dark?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've been toying with the idea for the contents of this chapter for quite a while now. When I started writing, I thought I could contain it but it totally went in directions I hadn't previously thought about. So, here we are...in my opinion it was worth making into a two-part story. This chapter works around some hard themes like the title suggests. 
> 
> Part 1 is all about the Guardian adventuring and having to cope with some hard realities/problems that weren't properly resolved. So don't expect happy-fluff until part 2. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Forgiven, Not Forsaken//Part 1**

* * *

The first time they met was by pure coincidence. 

She had been patrolling the northern border of the Last City by sparrow, hunting after a small band of Fallen Scouts. They ran ahead like spiders in the night, attempting to reel in their catch with invisible string. They had been testing the walls again, searching and hoping for a way in. It was of no heavy matter to her as she would see to their dispatch. It was an autumn nightfall, the woods covered in a blanketing mist and deep shadow. The prow of her sparrow cleaved through the rolling fog like one skims the surface of a lake with a boat. Behind her was a trail of blue energy that pulsed through the exhaust port.

The only lights in the night were that of moonshine and Eon Drive. 

The Guardian sped through the winding mountain roads at high velocity, following after the trail of broken trees. Her mantle whipped violently in the wind, its snaps echoing among the tree branches like breaking forestry. She kept like this until she made it into the clearing of a misty valley. The dense fog was undulating like waves of an ocean and they swirled in the aftermath of her movements as she dismounted. Ghost remained in transmat space, a nether region, hidden in the displacement and computation of numbers. 

Quickly, the Guardian reflexively gripped the cold, handle of the hand cannon strapped to her leg's holster. Her long, slender fingers held the handle with an extended finger hovering over the trigger guard. Eon Drive sat idle, purring and radiating heat, as it waited for the rider's return. Its glowing cyan light bounced off the heavy mist casting the Guardian's shadow ahead of her like a void-menace. Somewhere in the beyond, in the covering of thick haze, twigs crackled and a war cry pierced the night. The Huntress let go of the weapon, in favor of a different plan. 

Reaching over her shoulder, her gloved hand grasped at a steel staff. She drove the end of it into dirt, holding it hand-over-hand in front of her. Energy hummed through her being, like a cacophony of birds chirping in one accord. Her muscles tensed and her veins flared with crackling static. Blue electricity danced over leather and steel armor as the Huntress stood in waiting. More cries pierced the sky and that was when she heard the weight of her enemy's tromping like a herd of rampaging elephants. The first wave of Fallen came from her left and she ran toward them. 

They volleyed the first round of fire, ribbons of Arc energy waving behind the bolts like jellyfish tendrils. The Guardian leaned back, sliding on her side like a baseball player to home plate as she dodged part of the attack. In her peripheries, she noticed the shots zipping past her helmet. Had she not been wearing it, her hair would have singed at the roots of her temples. A couple bolts thumped her in the chest and pauldrons, while the stray energy caused the dirt behind her to erupt in showers. At the last moment, the she-Guardian jumped up and flung a rippling wave of Arc current toward the Eliksni from the end of her staff.

The current tore up the ground as it slammed into her foes, dropping them like flies. Ether poured out in ghostly screams when a terrible quake shuddered the ground underneath her feet. A red and wispy dot floated on the fog between her wide stance. Looking down, she dodged sideways in a split second decision as the sound of concussive propulsion clapped through the air. The ground where she had been standing moments before exploded in a spray of earth.

Jumping to her feet, she ran forward, slicing at the mist with several broad sweeps of her staff. Currents of fizzling electricity shot forth like gusts of piercing wind. Their charge slammed into the cool metal plating of a tank. A yellow-orange light at the bend of its foreleg burst apart in a shower of sparks as the tank fell forward. The head of its body extended outward at the neck, revealing the red heat of internal machinery. The Guardian expended the last of her power as she jumped up and slammed the end of her staff into the tank's integral mechanism.

A wave of blue energy rippled out like fractured glass upon impact, the current dissipating as she exhausted her stored light.

The tank twitched back to life as it brought itself together again, its limbs pounding the ground with a shock wave. The Guardian fell backwards, rolling with the seismic force, and back onto her feet. Somewhere along the way, her staff flung out of her grasp leaving her hands empty. The tank shuddered as two metal flaps on its sides expelled a flurry of small hovering Shank drones. They swarmed toward her like a hive of angry bees as they volleyed shot-after-shot of lethal blue Arc energy.

The Huntress dove into a last minute barrel roll, narrowly avoiding a lifeless Eliksni laying face-down on the ground. Her left hand clawed the dirt as her boots dug deep depressions, carving a path in the valley floor until she skittered to a stop. Quickly, she grabbed for her hand cannon and fired five shots, the gun bucking in her hands with recoil. Four shots made a satisfying _pop_ upon impact, but the fifth sailed past the last Shank out of sight. The drone remained in heated pursuit, zipping about as it readied to sting. 

Again the tank took aim at the Guardian with a deadly accurate laser, the dot slowly tracing up her midsection. 

The Guardian felt her stomach drop, knowing she couldn't move in time to avoid it. She flinched in her crouch, arms crossing in a futile block before her helmet as she turned away. She waited a tense moment and found that she was still alive. Her thundering heartbeat drummed in unison with the pounding of blood in her ears as they proved her livelihood. Looking toward the tank, she found a Guardian high in the air, somersaulting with feline-like twists as they turned ablaze. 

He was beautiful like midnight, cloaked in a mantle of fine ebony. His pauldrons glinted silver under the moonlight as they blended into metallic, scaled gauntlets. The mysterious, Guardian-Savior extended his arms out, flinging fiery daggers below. The Huntress's hazel eyes watched as the tank's aft armor plates exploded, blasting steel shrapnel into different directions as its hind legs fell limp.

The sole Shank circled around in an angry loop to face the Hunter, but exploded as a dagger lodged deep into its core.

The Huntress came to her feet and tossed a grenade, eager to join in the fight. Arc energy crackled against the tank's battered hull as she opened fire with her hand cannon. Together with her new companion, they traded several blows with the tank before it finally remained a heap of fire and slag. Tentatively, she kicked the tank with the toe of her boot. The only response was a metallic _clang_. Turning to her rescuer, the she-Guardian motioned for a high-five.

The Lightbearer suddenly shuffled back, the motion like a flinch. 

She paused, slightly confused, as her gesture went unappreciated. In front of her, a small octahedron shell appeared in the wink of blue transmatter. The sprightly ghost twitched its pegs, as they orbited its lone optic. "We mean you no harm Guardian," the ghost spoke soothingly. "Thank you for coming to our aid. It is most appreciated." The Hunter gave a silent nod in response as he pulled the hood of his mantle over his head. "Will you tell us your name?" Ghost asked happily. 

The mysterious Hunter gestured a farewell salute as he walked backwards into the mist. The she-Guardian watched as her ghost floated over to her, his shell swaying in the air with confusion. "That was odd," he finally managed. "We weren't unkind, were we?"

The Huntress shook her head with perplexity before turning to leave.

* * *

The second time they met, was when she was gathering Dusklight Shards just north of The Sludge in the European Dead Zone. Devrim had requested her to retrieve the materials as he and his camp were running low on supplies. The Guardian decided to venture off the normal trails and found herself in an abandoned grove with two, rusty shipping containers lined next to each other. Several terribly, stitched tarps were tied over the tops, acting as a makeshift canopy. Water cascaded down the dips in the awning, splashing to the dirt once in a while as its weight became too much to bear. A steady rain fell upon the clearing, the moisture cool and clammy. 

The Guardian hadn't taken more than a step forward when she heard the click of a hammer in her ears. Looking sideways, she found the ebony Hunter she had run into only weeks ago in the valley. The sidearm in his hand swayed a moment before he motioned with two, flat hands in front of himself. The gesture was like a reassurance, a sign to show he wouldn't harm her. She watched as he stowed the weapon away in a holster and walked toward the shipping containers without a word. 

She followed.

The camp was small and forgettable, just like the area they were in. The most notable things around were a meager pile of firewood and a white, linen cloth that sat folded on a tree stump. The ebony Hunter took the fine material into his lap as he sat on the stump. He removed a silver blade from his belt and jabbed it into the wood as he set the cloth by his boots. Leaning forward, he shrugged off a pair of rabbits that had been strung to his shoulder. Pulling the knife from the stump, he positioned the glinting blade over the rabbit’s fur but stopped short. He looked up with an inquisitive gesture, pondering the meaning of her presence.

The Huntress stood watching him for a moment, observing him curiously. He did the same before extending a fist forward, a grey rabbit dangling unnaturally beneath. The Guardian removed her helmet, copper tresses falling to either side in a tangled, frizzy mess. She smiled and took the rabbit. In her other hand, she was still holding onto a Dusklight Shard, a crystal like material useful for weapons upgrades. It glittered with beaded moisture, a subtle glow emanating from beneath the crystal's white-blue surface. Extending a hand forward, she gingerly offered up her find as a means for equal trade.

The Hunter brought his hand out to grab the shard, but paused as his fingers flexed. He seemed nervous, but accepted the gift with a slow reach. Their gloved fingers whispered against each other as he brought the Dusklight to his chest. Neither of them said a word.

* * *

The third time they met she learned a little more about him.

She stumbled upon him inside an abandoned observatory, engaged in an ugly brawl between himself and a Fallen Captain. The ebony Hunter was knocked off his feet, his helmet rolling off the side from behind the Captain's stance. The Eliksni leader raged against his foe, driving punch-after-punch into meaty flesh. The Guardian fired a couple rounds from her hand cannon, downing the Captain as ether poured out from the smoking wound. 

She jogged forward and hefted the limp Captain by the collar of its pelted mantle and began dragging the creature away. Turning to help her companion to his feet, she found he had already risen and worked the hood of his mantle over his head. The action was rigid and he faced away from her as if ashamed to show himself. He walked about ten paces away and retrieved his helmet from the ground. Leaning forward, his placed it upon head.

The Huntress caught a quick glimpse of his features as he did this. He had short, raven black hair that whispered over the pale, grey-blue skin of his neck and ear.

He was an awoken.

* * *

The fourth time they met was about two months later on The Farm. His mantle had been draped over a half-wall made of rock and his helmet nestled in the grass just below. She watched her mysterious friend as he kicked a soccer ball around a vacant field passed the mill. He seemed carefree as he punted the toe of his boot into the white-black ball, watching it soar into the net of the goal. Somewhere in the distance a couple hens clucked as they strode by the Huntress and fled into the safety of the barn.

Leaning her back against the wall was the female Cryptarch, Tyra Karn, with a data pad held tightly in her hands. The elder Awoken read aloud from an old book she had saved in the tablet's stored archive and by the way it read, it was Pre-Golden age. As the Guardian trod forward, to greet her friends, a twig snapped under her boot.

Tyra turned, startled, but smiled when her eyes recognized her. "Hello, Guardian," she greeted. "Ah! Ul—," the Cryptarch began, but trailed off as she looked about the field. Turning back to the she-Guardian, the elder Awoken regarded her with a baffled expression. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she held a hand out trying to figure out where the Hunter went. "I—I—where did he go? Did you see him?" 

The Guardian, shrugged. 

* * *

The fifth time they met was when she learned his identity by mistake. Like all the times before she happened to be in the right place at the right time. However, this time their meeting was anything but pleasant or remotely quaint. It was heavy laden with a plethora of emotions ranging from bitter sorrow to scarlet rage. 

The Guardian had been tasked with hunting after a certain Fallen Captain with a large bounty on his head. Her journey led her to the Whispered Falls, an EDZ Lost Sector, crawling with thieving Eliksni. From the moment she entered into the cave system, she knew something was off. Call it a gut feeling or instinct, but something told her that she would not like what she found. Why is it that the best kept secrets are often discovered in the dark?

The lingering echo in her heart proved true when she discovered the ebony Hunter within the chasm having freshly felled her target. He stood ankle-deep in a flowing creek, the rushing of a water fall rumbling in the background some distance away. As he turned away from the defeated brigand, swiping a fist over a bleeding lip, the Lightbearer shuffled back with a start. His eyes glowed white like starlight and they were sunken; riddled with unspeakable pain. Underneath the wisps of white-grey bangs that fell away into raven locks was a young Light desperate for connection. She could tell by the way he looked at her, he was lonely. 

His lips tightened into a frown at first before a small smile came forth. Taking a slight step forward, hands out, he tried to form something worth saying. "Hello...Friend," he spoke hesitantly. His voice was low and tender, unsure of himself.

The Huntress realized for the first time, why he walked about without purpose and boldness. All the times they met, he was careful, reserved, and always a mystery. She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes as she removed her helmet and chucked it aside. "You!" she yelled with seething sharpness, the exclamation filled with passion. He flinched ever so slightly, as confusion glossed over his Awoken features. 

"Me?" he asked, bringing a hand to himself. "Who am I?" he asked.

The Huntress remained silent, her anger forming into brazen fists.

“Who am I?!" he yelled with grief. 

The Guardian ran forward and swung a crackling fist toward his face, a cry of anger echoing from her mouth. The cave sang like a chamber choir, reverberating with the sounds of lament. Her fist swiped at nothing as the ebony hunter ducked and tackled her to the ground. She growled with fury as the two of them grappled in a tangle of limbs, talking with the punches of their fists. The Huntress made no progress as her anger rose forth as tears. He pinned her wrists to either side of her as he knelt above her. His face contorted with grief and questions, his lips quivering.

"Who am I?!" he screamed, his trembling shaking her wrists.

"You're a coward and a murder," she roared, a sob following suit. 

His starlight eyes filled with tears as he let go and sat next to her. Their combined anguish broke him, cleaving his heart asunder as he sat in the dirt holding his head in his hands. He stayed quiet save for the muffled weeping. The Huntress sprang to her feet, towering over him as the need to kick him whispered in her ears. The fleeting notion melted away as he looked up to her. "Is that who I am? I don't remember anything. Who I was before. I don't even know who I am now."

"Your name is Uldren Sov," she spat, “and you killed my friend."

He slapped his ears, unable to bear the weight of the news. "No!" he objected.

"Yes!" she screamed, "you killed Cayde!" As she said this, Cayde's name echoed off the hollow walls like a confirmation of the emptiness he left behind. The Huntress dropped to her knees, overwhelmed by the sudden sorrow and remorse she felt. "I was there the day you died." The statement was meant to be said with hatred, but she said it with grief. The embarrassment of her deeds haunting her with humiliation; she had acted no better than the Awoken Prince. Her actions were selfish and self-righteous—self-justified. Her stomach soured at the truth, her tongue drying at the insight. 

She cried, "There was too much death that day. I wanted vengeance. I wanted to make you pay." She sobbed, "But in the end...I couldn't do it." He took the pain, like he took the loneliness he experienced since day of his resurrection, in stride. No wonder he was shunned—an outcast—among his new people. They still felt the sting of loss his former-self had dealt them and could not comprehend the Traveler's decision.

It was confusing! It was mad! Backhanded seeming, even.

Uldren gulped hard at the immensity of his situation. His worst fears had finally been realized, spoken with truth, and engraved in the stone. It was hard for him to breathe, like the life had been sucked out of him. He was worthless.

“I've hated you all this time," she bawled. "But here you are and you don't know a thing of it." 

"I'm sorry...," he rasped.

She said nothing and she shoved him away from her. "I hate how torn I am," she finally spoke. "I hate that I'm stuck feeling like this, and you have no memory of your deeds."

"I'm sorry," Uldren said again, his voice full of remorse. "I don't know what else to do. Accept to say, I'm sorry."

"I can't look at you anymore," she said and left him forsaken.

"Please, don't leave me," he cried.

She pressed on holding her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: What do you guys think about Uldren Sov? He's definitely not my favorite character, but I could honestly empathize with him. As you're probably starting to pick-up from my writing this chapter, I really enjoy "redemption" themes. I believe that Uldren could surprise us as a Guardian. He pretty much gets a reset...a new lease on life (if you will). As much as the game's story made you sad about Cayde's death, I felt worse for Uldren. Sure he did some despicable things, but at the same time, he was corrupted by Riven. {shrugs} Now his new-self is gonna have to deal with his former-self and from what the lore tabs explain...it's pretty bleak. 
> 
> If you're interested in reading up on what I'm talking about, then go google a website called "Ishtar Collective" and search for "Pulled Pork". There's two entries to read from and both are short.
> 
> Anyhow, stay tuned.


	6. Forgiven, Not Forsaken (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Huntress barely took any coaxing from him for it all to spill out. She cried as she explained her experience with meeting Cayde's killer—Uldren Sov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Writing this next piece was a whole lot easier than I had expected. Since love and forgiveness go hand-in-hand as themes, it made everything flow so naturally. This time around, I switched things up and wrote the first half in Saint's perspective. Figured now would be a good time to do that and give more depth to the chapter as well as the dialogue. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy Saint at his finest! ^____^
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

** Forgiven, Not Forsaken//Part 2 **

* * *

A steady rain poured upon the Last City like a curtain from where Saint stood. There was no sun this evening, only a multitude of thick, dark clouds. Thunder rumbled somewhere above in the atmosphere, like someone was pounding on a drum. To most, this would have been dismal weather. But to him, the rain brought hope. There's natural beauty in the rain's ability to wash away old things and it comforted him. It was a sign of new things to come. 

He closed his eyes as he listened to the sounds of moisture pitter-pattering against the pavement where it dripped from the overhang. Looking down, Saint found that water had pooled underneath his silver boots. He bobbed his feet up and down, lightly splashing the puddle against his legs. Folding his arms to his chest, he turned to survey the hangar. It was empty and the only signs of activity came from the constant buzzing noises of a welding project Amanda had undertaken. 

The burly Titan turned back to the cityscape and his mind turned to reverie as he imagined long copper-hair, hazel eyes, and a dazzling smile. The Huntress had often stolen his thoughts these days, as her missions seemed to lead her away spasmodically. She was constantly en route to the European Dead Zone and it made it hard for them to catch up. There were things on his mind he had wanted to discuss with her for quite a while now and he never found the right time to say them.

Let alone, know how to say them. 

These swirling emotions were new to him and he couldn't quite understand them. He never took the time to understand such things in the past because he was constantly busy keeping the city together. There simply was no time to think about romance, just the art of war. He was good at it. This, however, he was not good at. 

He was most unqualified and it concerned him. He didn't want to mess it up. What if she didn't think the same as he? What if he told her what he was thinking and she laughed? What if she stopped talking to him?

Saint paused his inner dialogue as he fought against the unrealistic worry of things outside his control. " _What is the worst that could happen?_ " he reasoned to myself. " _If she says 'no', then we remain friends._ " He paused again and started up a new thought on how to approach his would-be speech. 

When he saw her, he wanted to say such stupid things. He wanted to see her any chance he got. If she sat alone, he wanted to make a point of sitting with her. When she laughed, he wanted to be the one telling the jokes. When she cried, he wanted to be the one to wipe away the tears. When her hair was frizzy and it often was, he wanted to be the one to tuck the hair behind her ears. When she needed a hug, he wanted to be the one to give it. 

He sighed, unsure of when he would see her next. " _I miss her_ ," he admitted to himself. 

He tried rehearsing his thoughts aloud multiple times when he believed no one would hear him. To his dismay, he found that Amanda heard just about everything from her shop. He became a bumbling mess when he realized this, only earning a grin and some laughter from the Shipwright. He knew her to be good friends with the Guardian and it swelled his thoughts with embarrassment. Amanda, as sweet as she was, had promised not to spill his secrets so long as he talked with their friend. 

"Do you think she will accept what I—what I say?" he asked, swinging his hands about as he grasped for something intelligible. 

Amanda gave a wide, cheeky grin in response. "Ask her Saint, not me." As she said this, the Shipwright pulled her welding mask back on and went about her business. Saint left her alone and returned to his lonesome stall and began extinguishing the candles that lined the walkway runner. As he did this, a roar of nearby engines filled the bay. Looking over, he found a familiar black and red ship with an Ace painted on its aft plating, powering down. 

Saint grinned, suddenly excited. This was it! She was home again. The Exo hurried along the runner, pinching out the flames of lit candle wicks. By the time he finished with the last two, he heard the tromping of footsteps cascading through the hangar. He turned his head and found that the Guardian had already run past Amanda's stall, unlikely to stop for a chat. Something was wrong, he just knew it. The Exo jogged through the hangar and past the courtyard. Darting down the steps, he recalled the way to her apartment. 

She hadn't made it into the elevator yet when he found her. The Guardian stood in front of the doors with her helmet held tightly to her hip. He watched her carefully and noted she was swiping the back of her gauntlet over her eyes. Saint frowned before he hurried along. The elevator dinged and he watched as the Huntress entered, the doors beginning to shut behind her. He ran ahead and jumped sideways through the crack, jostling the lift with the movement. 

The Huntress looked up to him confused and broke into a sob. 

Saint held her close to him for several floors and broke away when the doors opened. They left the elevators and traveled the corridor in silence until they got to her apartment. She didn't bother removing her gear as she plopped down on her couch and put her muddy boots up on the coffee table. He let her be as he began rummaging through her cupboards looking for a kettle and tea. Several minutes later he brought the hot brew to the couch and handed her a cup. 

She took the cup with a small smile, swiping at the corner of her eyes with a sleeve. She sniffed and tentatively took a sip. 

"How is it?" he asked. 

"Good," she lied, shivering with disgust. "Actually...terrible," she chuckled as more tears fell. 

"Ha!" he laughed. "Osiris always asked me if the food was burned. I always thought he was a bit…picky." 

She laughed a little as she set the cup down. "Thank you for the tea. I can see why."

Saint chuckled, before he resolved himself to a serious tone. "Now, what is troubling you?" 

The Huntress barely took any coaxing from him for it all to spill out. She cried as she explained her experience with meeting Cayde's killer—Uldren Sov. He sat in silence, letting her work through the process of grief and anger. By the time she finished, her eyes and cheeks were slightly puffy. "It is…okay," he said, patting her back. The movements were harsher than he meant, causing her to huff in exhalation with every jostle. She side glanced him with squinted eyes and he shrugged. "Sorry." 

She shook her head. 

"So," he began. "You think you are mess, no?" She said nothing. "How do you think I felt when I searched for my brother-in-arms?" The Huntress's hazel gaze locked onto him as a questioning expression came upon her delicate features. "I was disappointed, even angry with him," Saint explained. "Osiris, that is," he corrected himself. "I had helped to make him 'Vanguard Commander' and he left his responsibilities and his people. He threw it all away." 

"He really did that?" she croaked. 

"Ah, yes. I even wrote him letter," he said, his accent thickening as he remembered his past frustration. "I never found Osiris...as you well know," Saint sighed, hanging his head with defeat. "All I had were anger, disappointment, and the love of a good fight to keep me going in my search for him." 

"That sounds awful," the Huntress responded, sniffling all the while. 

"Yes! It was," he responded with a dry laugh. "I've killed enough Vex to end a war, and in the end, do you know what I found?" Saint asked, scooting close to her. She said nothing as he placed a reassuring arm around her shoulder. "Misery. That's what I found. I was at Death's door fighting the Vex and all I could think about was the fact that I searched for that dumb Warlock with anger in my heart." The Guardian laughed at the meager joke within the hard truth of his statement. "I realized, I could die angry, or...," he paused, "I could die forgiving him." 

"I don't know if I can forgive Uldren," she cried. "I don't know if I want to." 

"Ah, there lies problem," Saint said gently. "Vengeance is sweet for short-term, but it will haunt your steps. Cayde's death was out of your control. This...forgiveness, that is under your control." 

"I was so ugly to him," the Huntress said between sobs. 

"Then be kind," he answered. "I spent a long time trying to find Osiris. Fighting to bring him back from his betrayal, and I almost lost myself. There was hurt in my heart toward him and I felt shame." 

"What if he doesn't forgive me?" she worried. 

"I do not know," Saint answered honestly. "However, I think he may surprise you." 

"Does it ever go away?" As she asked this, she hugged herself. 

"Shame? So long as you confront it," he mused. "We cannot change the past, but we can let go of it in search of a brighter future." He let go of her shoulder and playfully bumped her side with his elbow. "A very special Guardian taught me this," he said with a grin in his voice. She laughed. "True forgiveness is a battle for patience. When thoughts come, you cast hate aside and choose forgiveness." 

The Huntress nodded, "I think that's the best advice I've ever been given." 

"Good. Do not ask me to repeat. I will not remember what I said," he cheeked. "Titans are always smashing things with their head. You may have to jog my memory." 

She laughed and leaned into him. Saint remained still as she peeked his cheek. "Thank you." 

"An—anytime," he answered, suddenly euphoric. Saint knew now was not the time to bring up his speech so he resolved to let the matter go. Maybe one of these days, it would be the right time to tell her. Until then, he would enjoy these moments and take the backseat. The best things in life, occur naturally in the open. He smiled and stayed a while.

* * *

The sixth time they met, the Guardian went in search of Uldren. He led her in a chase through the forest and then disappeared like a phantom. He was good at hiding from her, but she would be better at finding him. 

The seventh time they met, the Huntress tracked him down to a small camp in The Outskirts, nestled on a ridge overlooking a gorge. Uldren was tending to a newly lit fire when she entered his camp. Startled by her approach, he jumped to his feet kicking up a cloud of dirt. His delicate Awoken features were contorted in anger and bitterness as he gnashed his teeth toward her. "Go away!" he yelled. 

"No!" she volleyed, "Not until I say my piece."

"You already have!" Uldren spat. "You hate me! Everyone hates me! It's all crystal clear. This is punishment for what I deserve." 

"You already paid that punishment," she yelled, "in full." 

"Great! Thanks for clarifying," he said, tossing the stick in his hand at her. The Huntress reflexively dodged the projectile as she shrugged a shoulder forward. Uldren sat back down next to the fire, pretending to ignore her as he opened a package of food he managed to find. As he tore the silver bag open, he shook the contents before putting it to his lips. He leaned back and took a bite of whatever it was. The Guardian resolved to sit down opposite from him, hoping it would make him look at her. She took off her helmet and stared into the crackling flames when he didn’t. 

"What I did that day was...wrong," she admitted. "I'm sorry." 

Uldren looked at her with disgust but said nothing. Apparently, what she was saying appealed to him though he seemed disinterested. She pressed on through the awkwardness, "I can't take back the things I've said and the things I've done. I was wrong." As she said this, some tears stung her eyes. "I—," she sniffed, "I'm sorry." The ebony Hunter sighed exasperatedly as he propped an arm on his knee, resting his head into the palm of his hand. 

"Look…," he started to say as he tossed the silver bag over his shoulder. "I can't undo any of the things I've done either," he added. “Or rather, the things that I did as my former self.”

"We could start over...?" she pondered aloud. 

"Perhaps," Uldren answered, leaning back with arms crossed. 

"Perhaps," she repeated.

“After what happened last time, why are you here? What changed?” he asked skeptically. “You made it clear you despised me, and for good reason.”

“No,” she corrected, “who you were. I wasn’t ready to accept who you are now.”

He nodded solemnly, “No one is.” His eyes bounced from her to the flames of the small fire as he tried to hide the pain in his eyes.

“I would like to try though,” she added with genuine kindness.

“How?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, since your light made you someone entirely new,” she pondered, “I think that calls for a new name.”

“What would you call me?” the Hunter sat forward, suddenly intrigued. 

She thought for a moment and smiled as an idea came to her. “How about…”


	7. Shades of Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Good. It is best to talk with those who are close to you. Matters of the heart and mind are not meant to be bottled," Ikora said with wisdom. “We might be warriors, but we are not exempt from feeling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Kind of a nod to maintaining positive mental health/wellness and reviewing bittersweet memories. This chapter is a mix of fluffy-goodness and seriousness. Tried to keep it lighthearted, but with some type of plot. Hoping to get more into the relationship between Saint and the Guardian from here on out. We shall see if that's where the writing takes me. I just hadn't found the natural pull yet to make their relationship more serious. Could be changing though. :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Shades of Remembrance**

* * *

"Good evening, Guardian," Ikora greeted.

The Huntress nodded in acknowledgement to the renowned Warlock as she strode into her office. She had never been in here before, but the room was wide and rectangular, save for the rounded reading nook behind Ikora's desk. The bench was built into the wall and made from a sturdy wood, stained the color of espresso. Its seat was large enough to curl up on and topped with plush cushions the shade of amethyst. Underneath the nook was a small bookcase where one could lean down and pluck an old tome from its shelves.

Ikora had been reclining on the cushions, a hint of a sleepy expression still on her face as she sat forward. The data pad that had been in her hands was turned off and left atop a large pillow as she left the comfort of the bench. Unlike Vanguard Commander Zavala's office, which overlooked the last city, Ikora's office had a grand view of a garden terrace. The sun was setting, casting a golden-orange glow on the Warlock’s dark complexion as she strode toward her guest.

The Guardian remained quiet as the two met at the middle of the room. 

Though Ikora seemed peaceful and serene, her countenance seemed rather distracted. The Warlock smiled sedately, her raspberry colored lips revealing pearly whites. "I've been waiting for you to return," she spoke softly. "Come," she said, putting an arm around the Huntress's shoulders and ushering her along. "Let's go outside and talk. We can enjoy the weather while it's here."

The two of them walked out onto the terrace and sat down on a white-stone bench, with two large shrubs on each side. The plants were rather full and bushy with green leaves and stalks that tapered up into violet and maroon petals. As they settled in on the bench, the sweet smell of something sagely danced about them. It was subtle, but earthy. The Guardian was reminded of a bowl of potpourri she had seen in the bazaar district before, it was sold in a stall that had been well stocked with wax candles and homeopathic remedies.

She smiled, enjoying the natural fragrance that wafted around them like perfume. 

"Salvia, a type of sage," Ikora noted as she realized the Guardian's sudden interest. The Warlock chuckled, pleasantly delighted to share in the simplicity of the experience and took a moment to enjoy the herbal aroma. "One of my favorites," Ikora smiled. 

The Huntress side-smiled as she waited expectantly of the Vanguard. 

"No doubt you are curious as to why I asked you to come here," Ikora began, her brown eyes soft with care. "I realize that we have asked much of you, especially since Cayde's passing." The Warlock quieted as an expression of hurt and loss glossed over her for a moment. "Not a day goes by that I don't think of him. Our friend. Your mentor." A weak smile wavered on her lips. "How are you?" she asked casually.

The Guardian brought up her hand and shaped it to look like an "o", before sliding her thumb between pointer- and middle finger. _O-K._

Ikora nodded with a sigh. "Have you talked with anyone since Cayde's death?"

Her thoughts wandering for a moment to a gracious Exo that helped her grow in many ways. Learning to not be afraid to speak her mind was one of them and she found it to be cathartic and humbling. The Huntress nodded and made a knocking motion with her right hand. _Yes._

"Good. It is best to talk with those who are close to you. Matters of the heart and mind are not meant to be bottled," Ikora said with wisdom. “We might be warriors, but we are not exempt from feeling.”

The Guardian nodded in agreement, her copper hair drifting past her shoulders like cascading silk.

"On that note, I would like you to take some time off," the Warlock directed, "it would be of your benefit to get some rest and recuperate." The Huntress cocked her head to the side as her gentle brows furrowed with confusion. "The last couple of weeks you've been from the European Dead Zone, to the Moon, and back again more times than I can count," Ikora explained. "As pleased as I am with your work ethic, I would not like to see you face burnout. You're one of our best and we need you in excellent health."

The Vanguard stood up and began to pace for a moment, as if debating how to say whatever it was that came next. "The Almighty is a couple months out from us, and you've diligently rearmed the EDZ and Moon bunkers. In the next couple of weeks, you will be preparing the bunker Rasputin has informed us of on IO. Take some time for yourself."

The Huntress stood to her feet, concern on her expression. 

"I know what you're thinking," Ikora spoke softly, "this is not a punishment. Rather, I owe this opportunity to you. It is...long overdue." The Guardian nodded, her tense shoulders relaxing. "Take a couple days off and enjoy yourself. Make some memories. Visit your loved ones. Keep connections. We don't know what is in store for us in the coming months." Ikora turned and placed her hands on the Huntress's shoulders, the touch soft and almost nonexistent. "I regret not doing enough for those around me. Cayde. Eris. You. So please, let me do this one thing for you."

The Guardian gave a look of understanding as her eyes softened. She brought her hands up and placed them gently on the bends of Ikora's arms, the touch gentle and reassuring. The Warlock seemed to appreciate the acknowledgement before letting go. The Huntress took a hand and placed it flat and upright between them. With both hands she took touched the tips of pointer and thumb together, leaving the other fingers extended below. Arching the gesture upward, she linked the sides of her fingers together; pointer-to-pointer, thumb-to-thumb. _You're important_. As she motioned this, she added another sign. Folding her middle three fingers, she extended her thumb and pinkie finger apart and shook the gesture between herself and Ikora from her chest. _Also_.

Ikora smiled with trembling lips, her eyes squinting with gratitude as tears rimmed her eyes. "Thank you."

* * *

When the Guardian left Ikora's office, she went to the Ramen Shop outside the Bazaar and purchased a double order to-go. Their conversation, as unexpected as it was, left an impact on her thoughts. As hard as Cayde's death was to swallow, she never stopped thinking of who else was also affected by his absence. There was only one other person she knew of that would have been truly devastated besides herself and Ikora. Taking the food from the order counter, the Huntress gave her glimmer to the cashier and strode away.

The time it took to get to the Hangar seemed almost inconsequential in comparison to her thoughts. The walk had gone as quickly as the internal dialogue in her mind as it chased memory after memory and argument after argument. Once she reached the end of her journey, the Huntress stopped short of Amanda's repair shop. The blonde Shipwright was on her back, laying on a roller, as she fiddled with the undercarriage of a suspended sparrow. 

The Huntress tapped her boot as per her usual to let Amanda know she was there. The mechanic growled in disgust as she came out from under the vehicle with a splotch of grease on her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she frantically patted around the floor in search of something to wipe her face with. The Guardian leaned down and picked up a red terrycloth next to Amanda's boot and placed a gentle hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"Ah, ya found it. Thanks," Amanda said, taking the cloth from her friend. Quickly, the Shipwright began swiping and dabbing at her face. "Help me up, would ya?" Amanda said, extending an arm out. "My eyes—ah! My eyes are burn'n," she said frantically. The two wasted no time in getting to the eyewash station. The grease monkey stuck her face under the running faucet and began the long process of washing her face. "I knew I shoulda’ wore goggles," she cried woefully.

The Huntress shook her head with a smirk. Amanda said that more times than she could count.

As the faucet squeaked closed, the Shipwright dabbed at her face and the wet hair that clung to her cheeks. "Is that ramen I smell?" she grinned, her stomach beginning to growl.

"Mhmm," the Huntress answered.

The two sat for a time on top of a workbench, talking and eating, as they bounced their dangling legs in a carefree manner. They reminisced on old times, often talking about Cayde and his antics. As they did, a hen walked out from under the bench, clucking happily as she looked about. The bird, lovingly dubbed "The Colonel", seemed to be inspecting the floor for something to eat. Amanda slid off the counter with a bag of feed in her hands. Reaching in, she grabbed a handful of food and spread it into a small pile on the floor. 

"Did I ever tell ya why I like fixin' sparrows so much?" Amanda asked with a nostalgic look in her grey-blue eyes.

The Huntress shook her head side-to-side.

"You're in for a treat, then," the Shipwright laughed, while turning to place the bag of feed on the bench. Hopping up, she reclaimed her place next to the Guardian as she fiddled with a pair of black gloves to her left. "When I was a young girl, it was just me and my ma on the way to the City. Ya know that." The Huntress nodded. "Anyways, we were downright lucky that Zavala found us. Unfortunately, my ma didn’t make the whole journey." She chuckled dryly, "Ya know the Commander, when he sees a problem, he has to fix it. Anyways, he had helped me get into aptitude testing and I scored high in mechanics. Go figure."

Amanda laughed again. "I was actually pretty disappointed when I found out. I thought anything would be better than that. I had it in my head that I would be forgotten if I became a fix-it Gal." She sighed, a smile still on her lips. "I was on my way to the first day of workshop, when I got distracted with some fellas racing each other at the old sparrow track." 

The Guardian couldn't help but grin at the story. Something told her she would enjoy where this was headed.

"There were three guys racing each other that mornin'. They looked so carefree and daring. One of them caught my attention right quick." Amanda took the black gloves and placed them in her lap as she leaned back. "He was the one doin' the stupid stunts on his sparrow, speeding down the course." She laughed. "He really bit the dust tryin' to do the last trick. The lunatic tried supermannin' it as the sparrow went over a jump. Let's just say, his grip on the handles wasn't as tight as his brain should'a been."

The Huntress laughed lightly. " _Sounds like him_ ," she thought.

"Anyways, I thought nothin' of it as I went on to my way to that workshop course. Afterward, I still found the same dummy at the track." Amanda hopped down and went strolling over to a neighboring tool cabinet and started pulling some drawers open. "I decided to stay and watch for a bit. Took note of how he leaned into the curves of the track or squeezed his knees against the sparrow before a jump. I guess I stayed long enough to take his notice. I was just having fun with it, didn't mean to bother him." The Shipwright pulled out a set of hoses, a sprayer, and some shaders the color of royal purple.

"I was nervous at first when he approached me. I thought perhaps I would be a bother to him, like I was to those tryin' to figure out what to do with me. It was the total opposite. He asked me if I wanted to take a ride on the course." She laughed, "Not the smartest kid, but how could I say 'no' to what looked like so much fun. Spent the best time on the track ‘til dusk when he finally told me he had to get back to the tower."

Amanda turned from the cabinet and started attaching the hoses and sprayer together, taking quick glances at her friend here and there. "I can still hear him clear as day, askin' my name. Ever since that moment, I learned to love sparrows and had a penchant for a cocky Exo with a glimmer problem." The Shipwright smirked and shook her head. “I shoulda’ known he was trouble.” As quick as she said it, Amanda’s smile disappeared

"Here," she said, handing the Guardian the reservoir tank that would go with the hose and sprayer. "Sorry, gotta get the shader applied. And it's tricky to get open." The Huntress held the plastic tank and waited for Amanda to get the paint poured in. "Anywho," Amanda resumed, "once I got certified as a mechanic, I started working in the Tower on small jobs at first. The Shipwright before me was a hard taskmaster and they didn't know what they were doin'."

Amanda capped off the tank and started attaching it to the hose and sprayer. "One day the Shipwright slapped me for not doing something the way they thought it shoulda' been done. I threw a wrench at ‘em and successfully knocked the sucker out." She snorted, "I thought no one was around, but I was wrong. Cayde saw the whole thing; turned out he was the client. He laughed hard and high-fived me. Said he remembered me from the time on the sparrow track. Since then, he came to me for all his repair needs."

Amanda grabbed a pair of nearby goggles and secured them to her head. Perhaps the grease on her face earlier served as a good reminder as to where they were located. "Can ya help me with the hose? This thing gets stoppered easily when the line isn't straight. I've had a shader explosion back here before. I really need to get a new one." The Huntress jumped off the bench and grabbed the slack of the hose while Amanda double checked the cords and things. "Oh yeah, you might want to grab a pair of goggles and the masks for us. If ya don't, we might get a wee bit tipsy."

The Guardian complied and grabbed the items. Tying her hair up into a messy bun, she brought the goggles over her eyes and pulled the ventilation mask over her nose and mouth. Amanda did the same.

"Here we go," the Shipwright said, her voice muffled under the mask.

Amanda began misting paint over parts of the sparrow with royal purple and would occasionally tug on the line for more slack. The Guardian found it easy to get sidetracked by getting lost in thought. A prompt and occasional kick to the shins would set her back on course. Eventually, Amanda stopped and handed the sprayer over to the Guardian. "I need to go do something real quick. Can ya hold this?" The Huntress nodded and held onto the equipment as the blonde disappeared from the stall. 

While she waited for the Shipwright to return, the Guardian began thinking about how the newly applied shades reminded her of a certain Exo just around the corner from here. She hadn't seen Saint today and all this talk about making connections and love got her thinking. A small blush surfaced to her cheeks in a gentle heat as warmth spread through her. With this “time off” she has, maybe now was a good opportunity as any to say something to him.

"Here we are, Saint. How's she look to ya?" Amanda asked, turning into the stall with a burly Titan on her heels. “Perdy ain’t she?” As the Shipwright said this, she turned to the Huntress and gave her a knowing wink. The Guardian’s stomach flopped as a tremor of nervousness worked through her. Amanda was up to something.

The hard clank of boots startled the Guardian out of her reflections, causing her to look passed the Shipwright’s shoulder. Saint turned the corner, his sights obviously zoned in on the hoisted sparrow she had helped Amanda paint. "Ah! She is gorgeous!" he roared, turning to face the mechanic. As he did, his eye flickered past the grease monkey and found the Huntress standing there with the sprayer in hand. "She is beautiful," Saint said before he registered what, or rather who, he was looking at.

The Guardian dropped the painting equipment as her hands came up to cover her face. Amanda yelled something like “oh no”, but the damage had been done. The hose to the sprayer popped off as the tank and things slammed to the floor. For a split moment, the hangar erupted in a swirl of royal purple as shader mist exploded into the air. She didn’t know what was worse: her embarrassment or the damage she had caused.

Looking over herself, the Huntress had found that she had been doused with splotchy color from head to toe. Runny beads of wet shader riveted down her armor like paint dripping off a canvas. Behind her was a nearby bench that had been freshly and unintentionally painted. In the middle of the bench, there was a shader-free silhouette of her from where she had been standing when the explosion happened. The Guardian turned to her friends, her facial expression one of complete mortification. What had she done?

Amanda hunched over laughing as she pointed wildly to the Huntress. Her words were less than intelligible, but the point was plain enough. Saint followed suit, unsure of what else to do. The situation was as ridiculous as the Guardian had currently looked. Everything was a mess and so were the feelings she had bottled inside. Now she understood what the Shipwright was doing and had done. It was a dirty trick, but well played.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

The three of them cleaned what they could, but not much could be done once the shader had dried. The once red terrycloth turned into royal purple rags. Magnificent and shimmering armor was now dulled with matted paint. And to top it off, her copper hair had been successfully dyed the same shade of deep purple. Saint turned to her as he balled a rag into his fists and pointed to her hair.

“Your hair,” he said. “It is purple now.” The Exo couldn’t help but laugh, and she shook her head with embarrassment. “I like it,” he added quietly between the two of them. She blushed and was thankful Amanda hadn’t heard him. Saint walked over and bumped her in the ribs with an arm. “You are, most beautiful,” he chanced. “You did not have to dye hair for me to see it.” He chuckled at his joke and she took it for what she saw it as. A joke.

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered in complaint.

Amanda slammed the doors to a locker she had been rummaging through and turned to look at them with an upturned eyebrow. The motion was almost reminiscent of an irritated owl, turning its head from its perch. The only difference was the grin on the blonde’s face. “Did you just…?” she began. “Nah, I think I’m just hearin’ things.”

Saint laughed, “You heard her.”

“Aw, Darlin’! I forgot how cute you sound,” Amanda grinned.

“She is,” he agreed with boldness, rocking back and forth on his feet nervously.

Amanda blushed and pulled a wrench out of her pocket. With a fake cough into her hand, she cleared her throat. “Imma go over here and fix somethin’.” The Shipwright blinked a couple times and walked off, leaving them alone in the stall together. The Guardian couldn’t believe her ears and she hesitated to look at him.

“I have missed seeing you all week,” Saint began as he stood before her. He put a gentle hand under her chin and guided her to look at him. “I was, uh, surprised to see you here.” As he said this his hand fell away to his side. “Though I was joking earlier, I meant what I said.”

The Huntress looked away as her cheeks flushed.

“Okay, that was embarrassing,” he noted aloud, his mental filter absent.

She shook her head with laughter and turned to grin at him.

The Titan scratched at his head, the gesture one of nervousness. “When I first saw you, you were astounding. Your light was so bright; a beacon in my darkest moment.” He reached a hand out toward her and brushed a finger against her own. The gesture was soft and fleeting before his hand fell away. The Guardian kept her hazel eyes trained on him as her heart began to pound in her ears. She was nervous but worked up the courage to grab for his hand.

He accepted it willingly. They said nothing and simply enjoyed the moment. He didn’t push her away. She didn’t push him away. Everything felt right.

“Good grief!” Amanda said dramatically, as she strode into the stall with a clucking hen on her hip. “No wonder ya two haven’t gotten anywhere. Shoo! Shoo! Get outta my stall.” The blonde placed the Colonel on the floor and feigned a disgusted look. “Now I know what Cayde and I musta’ looked like.” She scoffed, “We were out of our cluckin’ minds.”

Saint and the Guardian exchanged equally confused looks and turned to leave. For a moment, they kept their hands held tight but stopped to observe their actions. The two broke apart awkwardly before continuing ahead. Amanda stood next to Saint’s sparrow watching them as the Colonel cooed somewhere near her boots.

The Shipwright looked down to the bird that had gone to eyeing her curiously. She sighed, “I guess some things are worth waitin’ for. Isn’t that right, Colonel?” The hen clucked in response and the blonde ran a hand through her hair. “I know what you’re thinkin’, girl. I miss him too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: [CaydeXAmanda] is one of my favorite ships. So very adorable. I also have a one-shot called "Monkey Wrench" if you're interested in delving into the pairing. {slides fanfiction forward}
> 
> Was this a good enough amount of [SaintXGuardian]? Or do you need more? LOL
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty


	8. Now or Never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HUUUUUUGE thank you to my buddy for the: help, ideas, and jokes. We had a great time putting this chapter together and I think it was well worth the wait. If any of you enjoy humor/crack-fics, then check out Riptor25's works. Their writing style is FANTASTIC and I'm not just saying this. :) Seriously though...check em' out. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**Now or Never**

* * *

Slamming the top drawer of her dresser, the Huntress heard the bin clunk against the frame with a hollow thump. She never bothered to buy herself more than a week's worth of clothes. Shorts. Tank tops. Some jeans. Mostly things she could justify wearing to bed. The Huntress was rarely home long enough to enjoy anything but her armor and bodysuit. She had tons of it stored away in the vault, but this occasion was not leading her to battle. It wasn’t even bringing her to a shooting range for practice.

No.

She was asked to meet Saint-14 at a local Risen pub called "Randal's Tavern." 

As the panicky Lightbearer rummaged through her drawers looking for something—normal—to wear, she kept replaying the conversation with Saint over and over in her head. For as often as the sequence of events played through her mind, she could probably recite it backward and forward and back again. She had just arrived in the hangar after a three week stint to Io, when the legendary Titan linked her on a private channel. The Huntress remembered the rumble of regret in his voice as he apologized for not being there to see her home as per his usual. He informed her that he had journeyed to Mercury that morning to correlate with Osiris regarding the Trials he had been temporarily hosting in the Warlock's honor. As it neared mid-season of the famous event, the volume of Guardians had only increased.

In short, his job had grown more tedious. He joked with her saying he now understood why Osiris passed the job off to him. The reason, he told her, would be to avoid all the paperwork. Saint would ramble on, talking to her about his regulars. Some he would clearly dote on and it was evident by the fact that the Exo's voice would rise with belly laughter and bravado. A smile would come to her lips as she understood his simple enjoyment of the game and the people.

" _Classic Saint_ ," she thought to herself. 

On the Huntress's trek to her apartment, she caught herself swinging the tail of her mantle against her armored thigh a few times. At each instance, she would throw the material out of her hand, trying to regain normal composure. However, she could barely contain herself. His joy was infectious and intoxicating, making her mind swim in the heavens above. As the Huntress pulled open another dresser drawer, she remembered how she almost forgot the door code to her apartment when Saint blurted out something, she never thought he would ask her. Smacking a hand to her face, she sighed and closed the drawer. 

_"I am on the way home now," he said to her. "Can you—can you meet me at pub?" He paused, "What is called? Ummm...Vandal's Tavern. No, uh, that is not—"_

_"Randal's Tavern?" she croaked. As she spoke, the Huntress imagined the establishment being full up with Guardians. The scenario morphed into worry that all eyes would be on them, but her especially. She gulped as she went back to pressing the buttons on her door lock._

_"Ah, ha! That is it. That is the one. Meet me there," he said happily. Their commlink crackled for a moment and he coughed nervously. "I—uh—have something I would like to discuss with you. It is...important. It is something I have been thinking about for long time now."_

_"I—," she started to say, but Saint interrupted._

_"I have to go. Bye!" he yelled anxiously before the link disconnected._

Since that conversation, the Huntress had been rummaging around her apartment for her sanity and something to wear. As the Guardian continued her desperate search, a small knock came to her apartment door. Whipping her head around, she found that her ghost already left to greet their visitor. The door swished open and closed as the clunk of heavy boots followed shortly after. "Hey! I'm here. What's all the fuss about?" a familiar voice called from the living room.

Quickly, the Guardian poked her head out the door of her room to look her friend in the eyes. A few feet away from her stood a lean woman with short and messy, blonde hair. She had been fresh off the job and still had grease marks on her porcelain face to prove it. The blonde gave a cheeky grin, her pink lips glistening under the soft ceiling light. The Huntress smiled and ran forward, tackling her friend with a big hug. The Shipwright staggered backward for a moment. "What's all this about?" 

As the two separated from their enthusiastic greeting, the Huntress began to cry playfully. "Amanda! I need help." Looking to her friend, the blonde Shipwright's eyebrows crinkled with humorous skepticism as she shook her head. "Please?" the Guardian pleaded, before giving her a pouty, lower lip.

"Oh, girl. What have ya gotten yourself into this time?" Amanda nodded, "What do ya need?"

The Huntress barely finished telling Amanda the details when the mechanic whisked her away to the bathroom. They spent the next hour doing their best to tame copper tresses with a hot iron while finding a look that didn't scream "desperate". Amanda found it funny to tease her friend with a poor Russian accent as she curled the Guardian's hair. Once in a while, the Huntress would poke Amanda in the ribs trying to stop the teasing. It was useless. They only laughed harder. 

Next came the makeup. Only a little was applied. She didn't need, nor did she want, much. They went with a warm brown shadow, subtle black eyeliner, and mascara. From the bathroom, they traveled to the bedroom in search of a good outfit. Nothing in the dresser or the closet made Amanda happy. If anything, it caused her to frown almost permanently. After a while, an idea struck the mechanic and she had Ghost transmat a small pile of clothes from her vault.

"Here," she said, shoving the material into the Guardian's hands. "Try these on." 

The Huntress frowned, "Are you sure?"

Amanda nodded and gave a cheeky grin. "Of course, I am. I think you'll need it more than I will."

After a while, the Huntress walked out of her bedroom admiring the loose olive-green tunic that draped down to her knees. The tunic hung offset to the right revealing the bare skin of her shoulder. The fabric was soft and smooth, embroidered with gold, silver, and bronze trees; the design reminding her of the Iron Banner. On her legs she wore dark brown leggings and a thigh-holster that secured the Ace of Spades. Though Amanda and she fought at length about the shoes, the Huntress decided she would wear her Iron Truage Boots.

Amanda laughed, "You are such a Guardian."

"But I feel naked otherwise," the Huntress squeaked defensively.

"Whatever ya say, girl," the blonde dismissed with a laugh. "And I think we're done here," Amanda said, giving her a thumbs up.

“You don’t think I’m over dressed, do you?” she asked holding up the end of the tunic with worry. “He didn’t say it was a date or anything.” The Huntress frowned. “Maybe we over did it.”

Amanda’s blonde eyebrow arched as she grinned. “Oh, no. Trust me. You want to be dressed to impress.” The Shipwright winked. “Whether he said ‘date’ or not, you’ll catch his attention. That’s what ya want, right?”

The Huntress blushed as she wiggled in place, swaying from side-to-side.

The mechanic laughed, “That’s answer enough. Oh…and…keep the tunic by the way." 

"What? No, I can't. I—," the Guardian began to counter but fell silent as Amanda gave a reaffirming nod.

"Yes, _you_ can. It looks good on ya. I bought it off ol' Eva a while ago for a date. But—uh—I never had the chance to wear it." The Shipwright coughed, "Any who...please keep it. There’s no one better I could pass it off to."

The Guardian smiled and looked down the front of her again. "I don’t know what to say, but…thank you."

"You don’t have to say anything, Honey! Now, knock em' dead!" the blonde cheered.

* * *

To her delight, Randal's Tavern wasn't as packed as she thought it would be. The floor was open save for the lonely tables scattered about the room. At the far, right corner of the bar were a couple booths occupied by a Fireteam. Some of its members were boisterous as they sloshed their tankers together in cheer, while the others looked like they would face plant the table in exhaustion. To the left of the bar were some Guardians, perhaps from the same group, dancing to Golden Age music. She thought she overheard one of them call it "club music" but shrugged in indifference. Whatever it was, the sound was full of bass and rhythmic beat. 

As the Huntress hopped up onto a bar stool, the bartender came over to ask for her order. Ghost transmatted between them within seconds and spoke with the steward. Moments later, he slid her a tall glass of cold cider with an orange slice hanging off the rim. With a quick nod to the barman, she took an eager sip and removed the piece of fruit. Taking a bite of citrus, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sweet taste.

"How is it?" Ghost asked.

The Huntress nodded with enthusiastic appreciation. Putting a hand to her mouth, she extended it outward. _Good._

"I'm glad you liked it. Amanda suggested it," he said happily. The Huntress watched as her specter bobbed in place, his aqua colored optical sphere giving her a wink. She smiled and brought him to her with cupped hands. She kissed his shell and mouthed: _thank you_.

"Anything for you," he said as his geometric spikes orbited his optical sphere. 

Ghost floated away and alighted on the counter, taking purchase near a set of salt and pepper shakers to the right of his Chosen. The Huntress wasn’t sitting at the table for long before a shadow fell over her drink and the telltale ping of a flipped coin rang out. The Guardian flinched in reaction as if someone threatened to punch her in the face and she snapped her attention over her shoulder to the figure of an unkempt, enigmatic man. His presence was like the void pockets of space, silent and nothing, yet powerful and deadly. Had she not known who it was, the Huntress wouldn't have realized he was there. 

Drifter sidled past, letting his ragged coat billow out behind him, and grabbed a chair from a nearby table. He swung it around and sat on it backwards, propping his arm on the chair's backrest before casually tossing one of his signature jade coins onto the counter top between them. “Howdy stranger.” He said all teeth as he flashed a smile that was all but sincere. “Ain’t seen you in Gambit for a while now. Figured I’d check in on ya.” 

The Guardian gave a subtle nod before giving him a two-fingered salute. _Hello._

"Strong and silent as ever I see," the Drifter nodded in approval. 

Her copper brow rose in question before she looked away, her hazel gaze suddenly finding her fiddling hands interesting. Ghost rose from his perch and floated into the space between them. His shell flickered about as it loosely orbited his optical sphere, glowing with a blue haze. "Evening, Drifter," he greeted. The Drifter's dark brown eyes narrowed as his clucked his tongue between his teeth, his facial expressions as supercilious as his reaction.

"What? You can't say a word or two—nod even—to ol' Drifter?" As he asked this, he batted the ghost away with a flick of his hand.

Ghost floated back in place, challenging the vagabond’s insolence. "She doesn't want to talk to you," he spoke plainly with haughtiness. As the creature of Light started to glide forward in unconcealed frustration, a gentle hand pulled him back. The Huntress held the ghost close to her chest, hoping in her silence that he would let the matter go. "That's no way to treat a ghost," the little light growled, his lone optic snapping into a squint. Ghost said nothing further as he winked out of reality in a puff of blue mist, the Drifter waving him farewell with his dancing fingers.

“I would keep my eye on that one,” Drifter said as he pulled an old toothpick from the folds of his headband. He inspected it with a quick glance and stuck it in his mouth. He and the Guardian shared an awkward moment as he rolled the pick against his teeth with a rattle. She rolled her hazel eyes and grabbed her drink for a sip.

The Huntress felt the Drifter watching her every move like a snake readying to spring forward for a striking bite. His stare was cold and calculating causing a shiver to trail down her spine. She set aside her drink after a moment and sighed as she realized he wasn’t going to leave just yet. His dark eyes fell to the cider in her hands, and he reached out a hand to swipe it. “You gonna finish that?” The Guardian pulled the glass closer to her and out of his reach. Her unamused look was all the answer she gave.

Drifter pulled back, catching the hint, raising both hands palm-out. “I just wanted to have a chat, that’s all. Ain’t breaking any laws just by talkin’.” He leaned forward, the light tracing the scars that ran down his face and giving him a slightly haunted appearance. He lowered his voice, wary eyes flicking to the other patrons before continuing in a whisper. “Besides, I’ve just been dying to pick your brain on something.” He leaned back after a moment, his eyes searching her own.

“You know that whole mess those Praxic stiffs started a few months ago? Whole lotta people picking sides between me and the Vanguard. Turns out there was a whole lotta snitches too. But…not you.” He laughed dryly and went back to rattling the toothpick between his teeth. “Miss hero didn’t pick a side. Color me curious. Not that I hold it against ya or nothin’. I just wanna know ‘why’.” The Drifter pulled the pick from his mouth, scrutinizing it before flicking it far away from where they sat.

The Huntress shrugged.

“What do ya mean by that?’ Drifter mimicked her with an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, working to charm her with a touch of humor. The Guardian almost laughed as she bit her lower lip, working to maintain her composure. “The way I see it—miss hero—everyone’s got a price,” he pressed on. “I've got mine. What’s yours'?” As he finished his spiel, he picked up the jade coin from the bar and began flipping it between his fingers as was his habit. The Huntress watched with curious fascination as the object flickered and danced from right to left and back again. Shaking her head, her eyes came to evaluate his side profile with thoughtfulness.

The man seemed to take notice and flashed her a toothy grin as he turned to her. He studied her quickly as he leaned in close, practically standing out of his chair, “Ya see, I've got plenty of jobs that pay better than that loot ya scrounge for. I'm willing to give ya one of the biggest paydays you'll ever have. All ya gotta do is keep that pretty mouth of yours shut." Drifter pointed to her lips with the tip of his jade coin. The Huntress narrowed her hazel eyes and shook her head “no” as she gently shoved his hand away from her atmosphere.

“Why don't you think on it then?" he frowned while palming the coin. "I’ll hold onto the details until we can shake on it,” he said as he stretched a grimy gloved hand between them for a truce. “Why don’t we strike a deal where we both get paid? What do ya say, Sister? We gotta deal?”

The Huntress’s face scrunched into a scowl, causing him to retreat and wave suddenly empty hands dismissively. “Aww. Don’t be like that, Sister. I just want the best in the business, so I came to you. They say you’re quite the pro at knocking heads, and this job will make you rich. Us Lightbearers gotta look out for each other, right?”

The Huntress opened her mouth to speak but lost the chance as Drifter smacked her shoulder with the back of his hand. “Besides...nobody is as selfless as they say you are. Not even that time-lost Titan that started hangin’ around here.”

The Guardian bristled at the callused mention of Saint-14 like his name was a curse.

Drifter grinned as he realized his prodding yielded him something useful for leverage. “Ah, gotta soft spot for some Exo-tail I see.” He clucked his tongue. "No wonder you're all dressed up. Curls in your hair. Eyes that could slay a man where he stands." The Vagabond smacked a hand to his chest, pretending to swoon with a sigh on his lips. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Your mentor—if that _is_ all that he _was_ to you—was also an Exo.” The Huntress blushed immediately as anger bubbled up within her. “How would that even work?” he added after a moment. “You don’t know? Me either,” Drifter laughed. 

The Guardian jumped to her feet, knocking the stool down somewhere behind her. With a sneer on her face, she placed the flat of her right hand, palm down, under her chin as she bent and unbent her fingers several times. _Pig!_

"I don't know nothin' about sign language, Sister," he smirked with dark pleasure. "If you're going to say anything, then you'll need to say it to my face. I know ya can talk." The Drifter sidled off the stool, putting it aside as he took a step forward. The man was barely taller than she was and the way he held himself, the Drifter worked to look down at her while sizing her up. The Huntress stood as straight as she could manage, combating his gaze with fire in her eyes as the air around them started to tingle with Arc energy. After a moment, he stepped back and leaned against the bar, his right elbow propping him in place. "You don't need to make a scene," he said, his eyes darting about the room. "I was just askin' questions." 

The Guardian's hazel eyes caught sight of the concerned barman and waved to him apologetically as she swooped down and grabbed her chair. Righting the stool to all fours, she sat down with a plop. Drifter pushed off from the counter and started stretching with the roll of his shoulders. The Huntress stared straight ahead to the collection of bottles neatly stocked on the floating shelves in front of her. The vagabond had officially worn out his welcome with her and he took the hint. “Alright. Alright. I see how it is. You’re missing out, Sister. Don’t come crawling back to ol’ Drifter when you see what’s good for ya. It’ll be too little, too late.”

In the Guardian's peripheries, she saw his eyes flicker somewhere toward the main entrance and they seemed to be glittering darkly with cunning. Whatever thought he was thinking melted away as he locked his attention back onto her. Moving for the side exit of the pub, he paused next to her, his mouth close to her ear. The acrid smell of cheap whiskey was on his breath, “We didn't talk for as long as I had hoped, but this conversation was...very revealing. You like power. So, do I. It's what I like about you." He chuckled lightly into her ear, "I know you’ve been hanging around that time-lost sucker since Cayde died. A bit desperate, aren't we? Here’s a bit of free advice, keep your distance. Things that were dead should stay dead.”

He gave the Guardian a rough pat on the shoulder as he left, calling out, “Later, Sister!” as he slipped out the side door. 

The Huntress grabbed her mug of cider and rocked backwards as she drank the last of it. Cold ice cubes sloshed against the bottom of the glass as she placed it back on the tabletop while mulling over the Drifter's repulsive "advice". Anger burned in her chest like a wildfire one moment and in the next, she felt deflated. The last thing she wanted was power, at least not in the way he said she did. Flicking the curls of her hair over her shoulder, she sighed and pressed a finger against her empty drink. A deep, rumbling voice called her name as a gentle hand rested against her back. She jumped in reaction, but found Saint taking a seat next to her as he pulled off his helmet. 

Putting a hand to her chest, she sighed in relief as a burning sensation pricked her cheeks.

"Sorry," he laughed, "I thought you heard me."

She shook her head with a smile on her lips. Using her right hand, the Huntress tapped her thumb to her pointer- and middle finger twice, the motion reminiscent of a bird's beak. _No._

Saint seemed to study her for a moment, before reaching a hand toward her. The Guardian remained still and watched as he fiddled with a lock of her copper hair. She couldn't help the blossoming smirk on her lips or the feeling of embarrassment exploding through her like bombastic fireworks. She wasn't prepared for this or the fact that her heart was ready to jump out of her chest. The Exo-Titan seemed to be enjoying himself as he caught her gaze. “Your hair does curls now? Ha! I like it!” He smiled and let the lock fall behind her bare shoulder.

The two of them wasted no time in ordering their meals and an appetizer to share between them. As Saint finished speaking with the barman, he turned to his guardian companion, eyeing her again. She blushed as she realized he seemed rather different than his usual self. He drummed nervous fingers against the table for a moment before his hand went flat against the table. "I hope all is well. I thought I saw that raggedy man—Drifter—talking with you when I walked in."

The Huntress pursed her lips and nodded, before looking away.

"I have heard rumors in the past," he began with a sigh. "It would seem, you have many dubious friends. Be careful," he warned.

"He's not my friend," she spoke for the first time since entering the pub. "He's a troubled man looking for something to kill the time. I don't trust him."

"You sound angry," Saint surmised. "What is troubling you?"

The Guardian relayed her conversation with the Drifter to Saint, doing her best to omit certain facts as she did. She didn't want to admit to the parts where he accused her of having a thing for powerful men. Try as she might, it spilled out anyways. Saint blinked for a moment and gave a hearty laugh as his hand smacked the table several times. "Raggedy Tragedy, accused you of what?" he laughed. "That is silliest thing I have heard."

She smirked as she covered a hand over her mouth, the heat of embarrassment falling over her afresh. 

"I—oh—thank you, friend." Saint began to say to her before thanking the barman. A large steaming platter rested on the counter space between them as the smell of deep-fried food danced in the air. The Huntress smiled and grabbed a golden mozzarella stick that broke apart into a stringy mess as she bit into it. "I do not like that one," Saint admitted quietly between them. She paused and looked at him, startled to hear his truth. "Stay away from the raggedy man," he added. "Nothing good can come from a man that hides himself away. Or his ghost for that matter."

The Huntress nodded in agreement. 

"And for another matter, anyone who accuses you of being power-hungry cannot understand the light you carry inside." The Exo's words were a statement of his undying trust and a glimpse of his previously unspoken thoughts toward her. "I feel sorry for anyone who sees otherwise," he said taking a small roll from the platter. The Titan pulled the bread apart with ease and went to scrapping butter against the soft inside with a knife. "No one will ever know the truth if they refuse to look long enough. Heroes are not made from the Light, just like how they do not make more Light on their own. You have much power my dear friend, but not because you crave it, but because you use it. And it is how you use it that makes you a Hero."

Saint took a moment to bite into his food, the Guardian still hanging onto his every word. "Great power can only be great when a person chooses to do good with it." The Exo finished his last bite as his expression changed from thoughtfulness to embarrassment. “Bah! I keep talking and have not let you say a word.” As if to correct his mistake, Saint found another roll and stuck it promptly into his mouth. She couldn’t help but laugh as she hid behind her hand.

“Thank you, Saint,” she smiled.

“F-r wh-t?” he mumbled with a full mouth.

“For encouraging me. Helping me see the bigger picture,” she explained. “Sometimes, it’s hard to see the road ahead from a one-sided perspective,” she sighed. “It’s tiresome.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I felt the same way on Mercury the day you found me,” he affirmed.

“You did?” she blurted mindlessly.

At the mention of the paradoxical event, the intertwining of their fates into the very fabric of destiny, the Huntress felt the soaring elation of excitement. Her heart pounded as a surge of Light-powered electricity shot through her, super heating her veins. She felt the crackle of Arc energy hum into the strands of her hair as a blush rose to her cheeks. Though she had fought through the hordes of Vex and Fallen to find him, the Guardian never truly realized until now that she was mortally wounded by a Cupid’s arrow on that very day. Her heart ached as their experiences brought them closer and her attachment grew stronger. It was breathtaking to be in love, but almost painful to say nothing of it. To stay silent.

The Guardian paused at the train of thought as a tremor of nervousness ran through her. “ _Love?_ ” she questioned herself. “ _Is that what this is?_ ” She bit her lip as her stomach flopped.

“Of course, you are like no other Guardian I have ever known,” Saint stated while looking her in the eyes. With a pause, the Exo’s dual colored eyes flicked to the floor and he began to fidget with the food on his plate. As the moment of silence expanded between them, the Huntress thought she saw waves of heat radiating from his frame. She turned her head with perplexity, unsure of what to think.

Saint took the partially eaten dinner roll from his plate while keeping his eyes glued to the floor and offered it to her. “Would you like roll?”

Dinner passed by quickly in a blur of lighthearted jokes and reverie mixed with unspoken tension. Their awkwardness only grew as the pub’s population became densely packed and pushed them shoulder-to-shoulder. “Perhaps we should find place with more room?” Saint suggested after a while. The Huntress nodded in agreement. The Titan promptly paid their tab and they wove through the crowd of rambunctious Lightbearers.

As they left Randal’s Tavern behind, they roamed the streets in mindless wandering. Somewhere along the way, they climbed steps and took an elevator, eventually leading them to a vacant tower parapet. The two sat together in silence, enjoying the night and the gentle breeze.

Far above them glowed a full moon that washed the fractured Traveler in incandescent light. Among the dark void of space, the numerous stars twinkled like diamonds among the transient clouds of elemental gasses. The Huntress’s hazel eyes watched as the pieces of the Traveler’s outer shell orbited its unfathomable and unknowable identity beneath. She studied the curve of its lower crescent, taking note of its perfection, unmarred by destructive fissures.

“What are you thinking?” he asked after a time.

The Huntress’s gaze fell upon the saintly Exo, regarding him with special interest. “Many things,” she said, tiptoeing past her emotions. A familiar heat rose to her cheeks as she scratched at the back of her head nervously.

“What is ‘many things’?” he inquired, his eyes searching her face.

“ _The past. The present. Our…future_ ,” she thought to herself.

“Come now,” Saint encouraged, “I am honest with you always. Trust me, like I trust you. Speak your mind.”

The Guardian bit her lip, her eyes searching his for a moment. Her hand trembled as she brought it up between them and she signed what she didn’t know how to say.

“What is this?” Saint inquired, making the same gesture.

The Huntress hid behind her hands in reflexive embarrassment. “Please don’t do that,” she cried.

“Why are you embarrassed?” he chuckled innocently.

Her fingers spread apart as she looked to him apprehensively. “Saint, how do you sign an ‘I’?”

The Exo made the sign with a closed fist while leaving his pinkie extended. “Like this,” he said.

“How do you sign an ‘L’?” she asked him.

The Titan closed his fist again while leaving his thumb and pointer extended. “And this,” he affirmed. “What does this have to do—” he started to ask before she interrupted.

“And a ‘Y’?” she said, her voice cracking with excitement and fear.

“Like this,” he said extending his thumb and pinkie wide apart while leaving his middle fingers clenched closed. “I…oh…,” he paused, seeming to connect the dots. After a moment, he looked confused and looked to her again. “So, what does sign mean?”

The Huntress sighed loudly while a smile spread to her lips, unable to contain her emotions. She opened her mouth to speak when Ghost materialized with a frustrated, electronic huff. “She’s trying to tell you something important, Muscle head!”

“Shut your Bolshevik!” came the electrical, Russian accent of a second ghost. “They are having moment!”

“I can’t stand it Geppetto! It’s painful to watch,” Ghost complained.

“We are still right here, Little Lights,” Saint said, heavy with annoyance. The Titan grabbed his silvery ghost, which appeared in the likeness of his helmet, and turned away from the Huntress. “What does sign mean?” he whispered quite loudly.

“Saint,” the Guardian called to him with a chuckle and a sigh. The Exo turned to her and she grabbed him by the pauldrons. Her hazel eyes explored his as a nervous expression came to her delicate features. “ _It’s now or never_ ,” she encouraged herself. The thrill of anticipation rushed through her as the thump of blood pounded in her ears. Pulling him firmly toward herself, the Huntress leaned in and kissed him where human lips would have been.

Saint jumped against her touch and the Huntress pulled away, clearly startled. Before she could apologize, he pulled her to him and returned the gesture. As his arms encompassed her, firm but gentle, ribbons of Arc energy began to dance between them. The raw tenderness and passion in the kiss surged through the Guardian and she could no longer contain herself. The light in her heart swelled and soared, diving and rising like a Phoenix meeting the sun at its zenith.

She sighed as they broke apart, resting their foreheads to one another. “I feel like I’m short circuiting,” the Huntress laughed as Arc-induced static lifted her hair. Saint laughed as he cupped her cheeks, a paradoxical smile in his eyes.

“Your hair is positively charged,” he joked.

“ _That_ is what the sign means, Saint,” Ghost said before departing with a satisfied, electronic warble. Geppetto silently followed suit, blinking out of the air in a cloud of blue mist.

The Guardian laughed with her eyes scrunched closed. “I can’t believe them—believe me—really.”

“What is to believe?” he chuckled. “You made move, I made move. I like this trade.”

She pushed him away from her, laughing in happiness and embarrassment.

“I am glad you told me. I was beginning to think I was the only one…feeling…this way,” he said quietly.

The Guardian looked to him as a fresh wave of heat swept over her cheeks. “Not at all. I thought the same thing too.”

“For how long?” he asked.

“Since the beginning,” she admitted.

“Since the beginning,” he nodded.

Saint grabbed her hand with his left, working to replicate the sign she had taught him just minutes before. Their pinkie- and pointer fingers, as well as their thumbs, touched lightly together; their clenched, middle fingers meeting at the knuckles.

“I-L-Y,” he chuckled. “You love me?”

She nodded sheepishly.

Saint leaned in, gently touching his forehead to her own. “I love you, my Dove.”

The Huntress blushed at his words as her mind raced through the meanings of his praise and adoration. She sighed, “I never thought I would hear those words from you.”

“Now you have,” he laughed, the sound like a deep rumble in his chest.

"Oh, yeah! So, what did you want to talk to me about?" she asked as their earlier conversation whispered remembrance into her ears.

The Titan laughed, "We already have. You beat me to the punch...like always."

"No punches," she corrected, "Only kisses."

Saint signed his gesture of love toward her, looking between his hand and her expression. "I think I love this sign." She laughed as he cupped his hands to her cheeks, guiding her gently toward him. "But, I love this more." They kissed again as sparks began to fly and the draw of passionate void melted them together; the world around them retreating into a blur of triviality. Tomorrow would come soon enough with new hope and daring adventures through romance and duty. For now, they would enjoy the moment and seek the peace.

"I love you," she whispered as they broke apart.

Saint smiled, "I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We wrote so much fluff, cotton candy started raining down from the skies. TT_____TT {blubbers dramatically at the cuteness} More to come!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty


	9. Request for Mithrax (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny or any of the characters thereof. 
> 
> A/N: Upon request via GrVT_ChlD, VIP #3987 has entered the building. Part 1 (and quite possibly Part 2) is in Saint-14's POV. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~ProphetessMinty

**A Request for Mithrax (Part 1)**

* * *

_What is "hope" if it is not inspired?_

_A discouraged belief._

_What is "courage" if a Guardian does not stand bold?_

_Timidity._

_What is "Light" if it is not meant to be shared?_

_An extinguished flame_.

_What is "change" if a Guardian does not enter metamorphosis?_

_Retrogression._

_What is the "future" without a dream?_

_A Guardian without a cause._

It was late afternoon when Saint-14 found himself pacing back and forth like a giddy little school-girl. Excitement raced through his intricate Exo-frame in the form of jittery movements as he watched the continual flow of air traffic in the hangar. He stopped counting the plethora of ships that had arrived and embarked when he realized they were all carrying people he had no desire to see. While he waited impatiently, his patrons would stop by for a chat. To their misfortune, Saint could not sit still as he did a sort of tiptoe-dance to see over them, remaining as aloof as Osiris during a meeting. Eventually they left, realizing they could not capture the Titan's attention. 

Saint quickly went to fidgeting with his hands, before gripping them tight. His heart ached increasingly as the minutes ticked by in a languid turtle's crawl. There was only one person he wanted to see, and he had not seen them in months. He wasn't sure how much longer he had to wait but the anticipation was almost killing him. With a long, disheartened sigh, the Titan sat on a nearby trunk. As he took purchase, Saint went to tapping the heel of his right foot against the concrete causing his impromptu seat to wobble. 

"Oy vey!" he thought out loud, "This is torture. Worse than being captured by Martyr Mind." 

Geppetto appeared before his Chosen, swathed in dissipating sapphire vapor. The saintly specter blinked with empathy, no words of soothing coming to his forethought. He wanted to help, but there was nothing of value to say. Gliding down to eye level, he did the only thing he knew best: he headbutted Saint's helmet as hard as he could manage. The Exo's head snapped backward with a metallic twang as he fell off the back of the trunk. The Titan caught himself with a steadying hand to the ground before swinging his weight forward. Just as he righted himself, Saint roared with a throaty laugh, momentarily distracted by his ghost. 

"Thank you, Geppetto," he said, closing his eyes while swiping a hand over the long strip of his purple visor. "I was...not myself."

The plume-helmeted specter bobbed in the air, the notion like a nod. 

"I have chased The Guardian's memory for centuries," Saint recounted. "Now, look at me." As he gestured to himself, the Titan leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. Resting his head in his hands he expelled a long sigh. "I can barely wait a couple minutes without sniveling after the hem of her cloak. What is happening to me?" 

Geppetto remained quiet as he blinked.

"Amanda says this is—what is term?—'love sickness'," he recalled disgustedly while overenunciating the phrase. "What is cure? When does this end? I feel like half of me is missing."

"How about now?" the voice of Ghost warbled.

"Bah! Even—" Saint halted mid-sentence as the voice who spoke to him finally registered deep within his cortex. Just as his eyes glimpsed Ghost and Geppetto, floating side-by-side, they disappeared in the blink of an eye. Movement in the distance caught his eye and the Exo focused on a certain Arcstrider as she popped out of the hatch of her ship. Swiftly, she worked to straddle the side of the cockpit hatch and jumped to the ground with the grace of an Angel. The Titan bolted to his feet and ran ahead with everything he had. Hurtling forward with the speed of a freight train, he called out to her. No sooner had the Huntress removed her helmet than Saint appeared in front of her. 

Hoisting her up by the waist, the Exo spun her about with bolstered enthusiasm. "You are back!" he exclaimed. The Guardian's face scrunched with amusement as her hair flew about like braided copper cords. Saint pulled her into a tight hug before the tips of her boots could hit the ground. He heard her involuntarily grunt as the breath from her lungs was expressed. "Sorry," he said nervously, pushing her slightly away from him. "I have missed you most ardently, my Dove," he said squeezing her shoulders. 

The Huntress offered a forgiving, bright smile. Bringing her right hand up in front of herself, she took to fingerspelling: _I-T-S; O-K_. Thereafter, she crossed her arms over her chest, and began rocking side-to-side like she was hugging someone tightly. _It's okay, Dear_. Pointing to herself, then her chin, and him, she shook her hand. The action was like someone shaking water off their hand. While she did this, she mouthed: _I missed you too_. 

As Saint beamed excitedly, soaking in her newest appearance, the Arcstrider went to surveying the area with a leery gaze. The Exo noticed how long her hair had become as it was plaited in twin braids past her chest. He had never seen it this way and he appreciated it even more. It was one of her most beautiful qualities, in his biased opinion. The armor she wore was unusual considering she normally chose a sleek and stealthy appearance. It was now a stark white with several lumpy modifications adding to its conspicuousness.

Saint frowned.

The Guardian's chest armor had four beveled dots at the center that—if traced with a finger—would form a square. An intricate hexagon pattern crawled up the sides of her thighs like the mineral, rigid grounds of desert salt flats. The pauldron and gauntlets protruded with bulky attachments and tubes like scavenged retrofit body modifications. And the helmet in her hands had six, circular glowing eyes that eerily glared back at him. Her favored Iron Banner cloak was long exchanged for a furred mantle that hung from her shoulders in ragged, tatters. 

His Dove looked like a snow spider and the notion sent a shiver down his spine. Though her arachnid-like appearance wasn't his favorite, Saint worked to bulldoze past the superficial thought. It didn't matter what she looked like. He was just glad she was home. Alive.

Taking a cautious glance around the hangar, he pulled her close and gently rested his forehead to hers. Their relationship wasn't public knowledge yet, but he was so overwhelmed with touchy-feely emotion he could barely contain himself. Saint didn't care anymore. He just wanted her with him, and he craved her attention—her affection. "Come, my Dove. Let us not waste time here." As he said this, Saint grabbed her by the hand and started leading them toward his ship—the Gray Pigeon. "Tell me your stories as we spend the day together—" 

The Arcstrider blushed as she nervously swatted at his hand. 

Saint laughed, "What? Are you nervous to be with me after all this time?" 

The Guardian shot him a sarcastic stare before resting a hand on her hip. Cocking her head to the side with a cheeky squint, the Huntress tapped her thumb against her pointer- and middle-finger. The motion itself looked like the clacking of a bird beak as she shook her head. _No_.

"Have I told you, you are beautiful when you are—" he began to say before she interrupted.

Swiftly sweeping her hands palm-up to the side of herself, arms parallel to each other, The Guardian began wiggling her fingers. Saint chuckled as he thought she looked like a mother chastising her child. _Wait._ Then she fingerspelled: B-U-S-Y. 

"Ah, that explains it," he said, shaking his head, "I thought we were past the silence." 

The Huntress signed nothing more as she pointed over her own shoulder.

Just as Saint followed her directional gesture, he gazed upon a Fallen skiff that had come to port, parking adjacent to her own ship. Something deep within the Titan froze, stiffening with the raw sting of winter. He stood still and silent like a statue as all emotions fled away save for an age-old hatred surfacing from the depths of his being. He balled his hands into fists as a thousand tragedies at the hands of desperate scavengers ran through his mind's eye. Each one exemplifying his failure to save those who trusted in his raw and protective might. As the imaginary film came to an end, zipping through decades upon decades of memory, his attention fixated on the most memorable event: the desolation of Zephyr Station.

He could see it clear as day. The explosions. The chaos. The dead—all the people he could not save. He tried to defend them, but he was mere inches away from annihilation himself; reduced to kneeling in his Ward of Dawn in useless rebuff. The bitterness of it all began to boil Saint's figurative blood and the anger escaped his mouth in a seething growl. Before he could take a step forward, Saint felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

The Huntress watched him, concern etched in her hazel gaze, as her hand fell away. With a sweeping gesture to the side, The Guardian's hands clenched into tight fists like she was grabbing a rope. Pointing to herself, she mouthed: _Trust me._

Saint was speechless, only managing a slight nod as he watched the skiff's aft deployment rack lower several individuals from the cargo hold. The Titan heaved a sigh of relief that secretly weighed a thousand tons as he witnessed a Warlock and a Hunter drop to the ground floor. His breakneck wrath began to trickle away just as the pit of anxiety ebbed ever so slightly. The two of them quickly waved to his Dove with distinct familiarity before scoping out the bay as if on security detail.

It wasn't until the pair turned around to talk with someone that Saint recognized what manner of creature stood near them. Its large shadow was head and shoulders above a human’s average height, standing roughly six-foot-four. Its natural gait was wide yet refined; its movements conveying an air of gentry superiority. 

The insectoid's armored upper-arms bowed outward with brawny muscle while its lower-arms hugged tightly to its abdomen. Long, gruesome claws clenched the bulky hilts of twin Shockblades holstered at its hips in practiced precaution. The eyes of its helmet were sharp and narrow, equipped with a hard cyan glare that accentuated the exaggerated protrusion of its mandibles. Upon its broad shoulders rested a lavish fur pelt that plumed wildly like a lion's regal mane. From fluffy-hide downward was a crimson cowl and tattered mantle that matched the mark hanging from its athletic waist.

Though the Fallen Captain was swathed in Devils-red, he bore the symbol of the House of Dusk. 

Saint charged ahead with deadly intent and a blood curdling roar in his throat. Deep within the core of his being, a pit of icy vacuum blossomed and consumed. Suddenly the Void turned loose in breakneck expanse. That raw sensation suctioned inward, pulling greedily as it absorbed molecular energy. As that hunger increased exponentially, Saint became enveloped in an amethyst aura as he skipped into a jump. Time turned to slow motion as the Titan came to the zenith of his arching leap, taking in the momentary details surrounding his enemy.

The Captain came into a readying hunch, its posture defensive as it waited to draw its weapons. The insectoid swayed slightly to the right, seeming to favor that side. Several feet before him, the startled Warlock- and Hunter-Guardian had taken to protective stances. The Warlock's hands turned violaceous, while the Hunter glowed with auriferous glory. 

They were prepared. 

So was Saint. 

Just as the Exo plummeted downward, channeling the coalescing Void onto his shield-arm, he swung both his arms toward the floor and descended with all his might. "Die!" he commanded as hate empowered his resolve. Seconds before he could connect the shield to the Hangar floor, Saint felt something collide with his armament, flinging his arm away. A prompt blow to the helmet sent him reeling sideways, almost tumbling over his feet. The Titan caught himself, bringing his fists to bear as electric numbness ran its course through him, exiting his feet. 

The Huntress stood before him, her face contorted in a mixture of confusion and apology. Taking a step back, she mouthed: _Sorry_. Saint quickly dropped his hands in startled bewilderment as he realized who opposed him. Amid roiling anger, a stab of guilt and disappointment split his stomach with ache. 

"Move aside," Saint demanded. Overlooking his Dove, he stared down the trio of strangers, while taking up his shield once more. Pointing toward the Fallen Captain behind them, he said, "My fight is not with you, but with him." 

"No!" the Warlock and Hunter yelled in unison.

"I said: move aside," he insisted. Neither Voidwalker nor Gunslinger moved aside. 

The Huntress stepped forward, quickly signing her dissent by tapping her thumb, pointer- and middle-finger together like a bird beak. _No_. The staff in her other hand, continued to dance in ribbons of sapphire Arc. Saint could hear the electricity as it chirped wildly like a thousand frenzied birds. He frowned. She stood against him and his stomach dropped.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Ghost declared. The white specter blinked into existence before the Titan's helmet, arriving from some unknown pocket dimension, as it stared at Saint with reverent vigilance. "This is what The Guardian was trying to tell you. We're here to escort Mithrax to the Vanguard. By special request, no less." 

Saint growled. "There is no such thing. This—Bug—must be squished. The Fallen are murderers—not friends. They scheme and devour. Calamity and devastation are their fruits." 

Ghost sighed before playing an old audio recording. "All that are Fallen are _not_ lost, yes?" the voice of Variks asked. 

Saint seethed, "Words from Bug will not halt my wrath!"

"Then _my words_ will suffice. Stand down, Saint," Ikora's voice commanded, crackling over Ghost's open communication frequency. 

The quarreling party turned toward the hangar entrance and found the Warlock-Vanguard shuffling down the steps. Her robes fluttered behind her as she moved swiftly to meet them. She blinked forward several times and bridged the gap within seconds. Just as Ghost disappeared, Ikora reappeared with a stern look and hands behind her back. "I was hoping to give Mithrax and his Fireteam a welcoming party. Not an execution," Ikora chided.

"What—welcome?" Saint asked, completely baffled. The last of the Void faded from him, dissipating from his visage like mist. With a sneer, he shook his head, "You can't be serious. 'Fireteam'?"

"Lay aside your hatred and seek the Truth," the Warlock-Vanguard advised. "Truth requires research, does it not?"

"You speak in riddles like always, Ikora," Saint answered, "but I will yield."

Ikora nodded. "Come. There are too many eyes and ears in this Hangar. Let us adjourn elsewhere."

Saint immediately looked around and found a large gathering encompassing them. There were many faces and names he knew, all with shocked expressions. The Guardian—His Dove—being one of them. He looked away from her and stalked off with shame in his every step. He had ruined what would have been a delightful reunion and wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor.

The storms of change were approaching, and Saint wasn't sure he was ready to face them. 

**XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV**

**XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV**

Upon arrival at the Vanguard Hall, Saint-14 held open the entryway like a spectral doorman. Not a peep could be heard from him and it was as if he were hardly there at all. He watched Ikora enter first with her nose shoved into a data pad. The skirts of her purple robes danced and rippled like roiling Void as Ikora navigated her way toward the massive oak table in the center of the room. As she took a seat, the Exo-Titan noted that she had done all of this without looking up—not even once. 

Mithrax was next to enter in. His strides were long and purposeful with prudence in his every step. Once stepping foot inside the bare conference room, he took a sweeping glance about the hall. Striding past the long oak table, Mithrax stood with his back against the wall. The Captain folded his arms over his chest and abdomen in a universal attempt to ward off uncomfortableness. Leaning against a concrete support beam, Mithrax also crossed his long legs to further appear casual and non-violent. Even after finding the most favorable nook—the table and chairs too small for the insectoid's preference—his eyes remained glued to the entryway.

Saint tried to let his mind wander, but even then, he could feel someone watching him. Glancing over his shoulder, Mithrax and Saint locked gazes for just a moment. The Captain chose to look away first. There seemed to be no ill-intent in its cyan glare. However, the Exo never made it a habit to trust in what he didn’t know. 

And Mithrax...was an unknown variable.

A few moments later, the accompanying Voidwalker and Gunslinger walked through the doors with The Guardian in tow. They were talking about information for their reports, though it seemed the Warlock-Guardian did the most talking. Typical of Hunters, they rarely converse about paperwork and details. To Saint's dispirited misfortune, the Arcstrider did not spare him a glance as she found her place at the table.

He frowned as he shut the doors. 

The Vanguard hall was meant to seclude them from the gossiping whispers of the outside world, but it could do nothing for the war inside Saint's mind. He was tossed to and fro by the messy chagrin he felt toward himself. As much as he wanted to rationalize it all away, there was no one to blame but himself. He had effectively isolated himself, sitting in the metaphorical hot seat, sculpted by his own two hands. 

"First things first," Ikora spoke, watching Saint like a hawk as he took a seat. "There will be no brawls or assassination attempts in _my_ Tower. Understood?" He nodded. "Now. To answer your earlier question: Yes. Jane, John, and Mithrax form their own Fireteam. It is not something we have broadcasted to the Guardians at large." Ikora sighed, "Unfortunately, due to circumstances being as they are _now_...this has become public knowledge."

"Like always, secrets find themselves out," Jane added.

Ikora chuckled, while massaging her temples. "Yes, yes they do."

"It was bound to happen at some point," John cut in. "We're not exactly inconspicuous around here. Not with Big-Boy-Mithrax looming over our shoulder." Turning to the Captain, he said, "No offense."

Mithrax nodded slightly. "Offense is taken by many," his gravelly voice boomed. "Not taken from Joniks. Misraaks understands. Misraaks looks like foe."

"Huh?" John asked nonplussed.

"Translation: He's not offended. End translation," Jane said, shaking her head.

"Oh," John mumbled, taking a moment to think. "Great!"

"Rabbit trails, people," Ikora sighed, standing to her feet. Walking away from the oak table, she went over to a corner of the room. On top of a small aluminum four-by-four table, two carafes of hot coffee and water were lined together. Ikora grabbed a small ceramic mug from the makeshift bar and filled it with hot water. Taking a stir straw, the Warlock-Vanguard walked back to her chair and extracted something from the folds of her robes.

Saint watched Ikora dip a small tea-bag with freshly cut spices into the cup. She stirred and stirred for what seemed like minutes as her other hand rubbed at her head. 

"Sorry," she said shortly before taking a sip. "Headache." 

As she rested the mug in the palm of her left hand, Ikora searched the room until she found The Guardian. "I was filing paperwork late last night for VIP #3987 to visit Tower-side when I realized we had a problem. Fireteam Mithrax would be coming in on a Fallen Skiff. Last thing we need is for them to be blown to smithereens by trigger-happy Lightbearers.”

"Things appeared to be a touch easier this morning with the help of our Guardian already en route to the Tower from the Tangled Shore. Stroke of luck, really. Opportunity smiles upon us today it seems. Thank you, Friend." Ikora smiled ever so slightly. Saint couldn't help but momentarily smile, reveling in the praise bestowed upon his Dove. A surge of pride blossomed in his chest.

The Arcstrider nodded with welcoming approval. Putting a hand up, she flicked it forward like she was swatting the notion away. _It was nothing._

"It is now upon official request—a request for Mithrax and his Fireteam—to spearhead _the_ Quest to find Variks, the Loyal. More like ‘Unloyal’ if you ask me," Ikora said before taking another sip of tea. For a split second, the Warlock-Vanguard blinked rapidly as she peered into her cup. Gingerly, she placed the ceramic mug on the oak table and pushed it away with her fingertips. "At current, the _Usurper_ is the most logical rallying point for the former Houses—comprised of Devils, Wolves, and Dusk. They are without their Kells, desiring for leadership. For familiarity.

"Variks keeps the old ways. Blinded by past. Dreams of Riis before Whirlwind," Mithrax suddenly spoke leaning away from the support beam. The Fallen Captain stood straight with arms at his side. His words were passion-filled as he chose his next words carefully. "Speaks House Rain prophecies. Remembers words as his own. He does not bend to new ways. Seeks to unite, all banners to one."

Saint felt suddenly numb as if buffeted by electric concern. All the secrets being aired out within the Vanguard Hall were overwhelming. The odds were appearing stacked against humanity once more, save for the morsel of hope being dangled in front of them. It wouldn't be enough to reach for hope, they had to fight for it. Tooth and nail.

"It is for that reason that our thoughts come to a single conclusion," Ikora sighed. "Variks is likely to lead them. Perhaps, that's what the fiasco at the Prison of Elders was truly about."

"The way I see it," John proposed, "that slimy, two-faced, coward musta been taking tallies while playing Warden. I know this game! Red Rover, Red Rover. Send them inmates right on over! Variks had it made as a spy guy. The keys were literally handed to him." Scoffing, he went into falsetto as he said, "Here, Variks. Here's the keys, Variks! Why don't you spring everyone from jail, Variks? Murder? Ah, no probs. We'll write it off during tax season."

Jane smacked her teammate roughly in the chest. "Okay, we get it. Read the room, dare-dodger! Variks is a _de facto_ ringleader. Moving on!"

"Thanks, Grape-fingers. Always keeping me on track and inflating my ego," John sniped.

The Warlock pulled her helmet off allowing brunette curls to tumble out as she glared at the Gunslinger. "You—you slug-eating-vegetarian-nimrod!"

"Hey! I'm an omnivore, thank you very much!" John shot back.

"Oh! Big word for a three-shot-lead-popper!" Jane spat with a derogatory remark. 

Saint sighed, drumming his fingers impatiently on the oak table. "Girls, girls! Why don't we step into the Crucible sometime? Your bickering makes me nauseous. I want to bash my head into something." Pointing toward them, he added, "Primarily your faces!"

Suddenly, a loud screeching overtook the room before a chair clattered to the floor. Everyone shifted to survey the source of the commotion. At the far end of the table, The Guardian stood with an angry and appalled expression. Using her right pointer-finger, she made a horizontally, elliptical rotation. The motion was rough with frustration as she referenced everyone in the room. _Everyone!_ Very quickly she brought a hand up to her mouth with furrowed brows. As she did this, she closed her fingers and thumb over on top of her lips. The end position of her hand was formed in a flat "o" shape. S _hut up!_

For a moment, the Arcstrider slapped the table with an open hand. The jolt to the tabletop caused Ikora's ceramic mug to slosh and clatter against the table. No one said anything as they watched her with genuine shock. Saint included. It was a baffling sight to behold as he knew she was not easily angered. A pang of guilt ran through him, knowing he had added to the tension she seemed to be suffering from. 

With one last sign, the Huntress brought an open-hand up, palm facing towards herself. Quickly she flicked it out, her audience only seeing the tips of her fingers. _Knock it off!_

"I second The Guardian's sentiments," Ikora sighed. "We're getting nowhere with these callow soliloquies. We must focus on the task at hand. Let us strive for peace and search for the truth."

“Yeah! What she said,” John stated weakly. Leaning over to Jane, he whispered, “What exactly did she say?”

“How should I know?” Jane griped. “I’m not a _Finger Whisperer_. But any person with a brain should at least understand the gist. She wants us to stop.”

Mithrax growled as he strode forward and placed a hand on the Voidwalker's shoulder. His voice was deep and throaty like thunder as he said something in Errata—his native tongue. Saint couldn't make heads or tails of it. He had never studied the language. He only learned how to silence the Bugs before they spoke. 

Jane frowned quickly before nodding, "Eia." _I agree_.

"What did he say?" John asked.

"Transliteration: We are friends, are we not? Yet we act like starved Dregs ready to dock each other," the Warlock frowned. 

John shivered, "If that means what I think it means...then count me out."

"Agreed," Jane said, shaking the thoughts from her mind.

"This brings us to the end of our briefing, so I will make it quick so that we can all be on our way," Ikora said, trying to stifle a yawn. "Right now, this Quest will take Fireteam Mithrax—and The Guardian, if she chooses—to the Tangled Shore for scouting purposes. Perhaps, our mutual...friend...the Spider might have some information." 

“What about me?” Saint asked. “If I am here, then I have purpose, no? Otherwise, _why_ am _I_ here?”

“I don’t know, Saint. Why _are_ you here?” Ikora asked as she locked her eyes on him.

“You told us to ‘adjourn elsewhere’,” he shrugged, just stating the facts.

The Warlock-Vanguard grinned as she shook her head. “No, my dear Friend. That is not _why_ you are here.”

Saint mulled it over, thinking about all the things they discussed in this hallowed hall. From prison breaks, to traitors. From Fallen-Captains-turned-friend, to infighting like disgusting Dregs. The more he thought about it, the information didn’t sit right with him. On top of that, The Guardian was now watching him. Waiting to see what he would do.

A pang of worry swiftly hurtled through his core before it seemed to fall away. He hadn’t thought too hard about her placement in this mission until now. How could he possibly keep an eye on Mithrax and his Dove from here? He didn’t want her alone with him. Not for a minute.

Risking a glance toward Mithrax, Saint studied the insectoid.

There was no way he could let her go on this Quest without his help.

“I am _here_ to offer my services. And to keep an eye on our…allies,” he finally proposed as his eyes flicked away.

“That would make five of you,” Ikora calculated. “One short of a raiding party. Much too large for what we need at this time.”

“But surely you need me on this journey? They have no Titan to back them up,” Saint pointed out as he grasped for straws. His concern that Ikora wouldn’t let him tagalong began to balloon in his chest.

Ikora’s brow lifted as she cocked her head ever so slightly. “And are you the…Titan…Team Mithrax needs?”

“Hey, now! Two Hunters can make use of a Warlock and get along fine,” John barked defensively.

Jane smacked him, “You’ve got it all wrong. The Warlock makes use of the Hunters. Otherwise, you meatheads would go in guns blazing every time! That would completely compromise the information harvesting roles we have now acquired.” 

Ikora hid a laugh behind her hand. “You were saying, Saint?”

“I do have much experience combating the Fallen,” he added, trying to fluff up his invisible resume. As he said this, he looked toward Mithrax. The Captain seemed to bristle as he stepped back. Saint grinned wolfishly behind his helmet.

“True to a Titan’s nature. There’s no persuading you, is there?” Ikora grinned.

Saint wasn’t quite sure why she was so smiley all of a sudden, but he nodded his affirmation. He was determined to go.

“Very well,” Ikora consented. “I want one thing clear though. Do _not_ address the Spider in such a large number. Less is more, in this instance.” Then she added, “You leave in one hour.”

They all agreed.

**XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV**

**XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV XIV**

The hour came and went in the blink of an eye and Saint-14 found himself sitting alone in the cargo hold of Mithrax’s skiff. With his back to the wall, he hunched forward resting his arms on his bent knees. Letting loose a long sigh, Saint released the pent up anxiety within his mind. The self-imposed solitude had not done much good for him and the thoughts he was dancing around. If anything, then it had allowed him to decompress from the wide range of emotions he was feeling.

Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Disappointment. Resentment.

For a time, he listened to the ship as it rattled and shifted in hyperspace. Taking time to get familiar with the various creaks and groans. No matter how hard he focused on these inconsequential details, he still felt as miserable as when they all left the Tower. Even more so knowing that he was unable to pull The Guardian aside and explain himself. After the meeting, she had stayed behind to talk with Ikora. What they had to say to one another, he knew not.

“Knock, Knock!” someone said.

Saint looked up and found his Dove slipping through the bulkhead door. Making sure nobody was behind her, she glided through the room, and sat at his side. With a small smile, she asked, “Are you avoiding me? I was surprised to see you hadn’t waited for me after my meeting with Ikora.”

Saint flinched backward, completely baffled as he shook his head. “Ha! Actually, I have been trying to find right opportunity to talk to you.” 

“Oh,” she sighed, leaning back against the wall. As she did this, she sunk down in an unceremonious heap. With a frown, she asked, “I hope good things?”

“Yes, but mainly to explain myself,” he answered.

“There’s no need,” the Arcstrider said, turning to look at him. “I understand.”

“You do?” he asked.

She nodded. “There’s a dark history between you and the Fallen. You don’t need to explain yourself. I know that this whole situation worries you.”

Saint was next to nod, unsure of what to say.

“Look,” she said, “I don’t expect you to change your mind so easily. You’ve had so many terrible experiences with them. Even I have. But until you have one good experience to change your mind, how can I expect you to ‘know’ what I ‘know’?”

He shrugged.

Elbowing him gently, she took his hand into her own. “I trust you.” She smiled. “Now trust me.”

“I do trust you,” he defended. “I trust you with my life. But I do not trust the Fallen.”

“This is different,” she pleaded. “I need you to trust me with ‘change’.”

“Change?” he asked.

She nodded. “Mithrax is different, even more so from Variks.” Saint flinched, a natural reaction of his self-built skepticism. “A while back, the Vanguard sent me to Titan via official request from Field Commander Sloane. My mission sent me to the Archology in search of a methane reactor. We ended up in the middle of an arms race against a sect of Fallen and Hive that had infiltrated the sector.” The Huntress scrunched the Exo-Titan’s hand, before lovingly rubbing her thumb in circles around his knuckles.

“Throughout the mission, this…Fallen Captain—who I came to know as Mithrax—was ahead of Ghost and me just about every step of the way.” She chuckled. “I had planned to kill him because he was getting in the way. But…by the time I found the reactor room, Mithrax was in a fight with a Hive Knight.”

“What happened next?” he asked, pulling her into his arms.

She sighed. “I took down the Knight, sparing Mithrax. Even though I was prepared to defend myself, it wasn’t necessary. Mithrax left the generator with me in thanks.”

“He what?” Saint asked dumbfounded.

“That was the day I changed my mind,” The Guardian said while sitting back to look at him. “I hope this mission will change your mind too.” Quickly, she leaned in and kissed his helmet.

Before Saint could say anything, the door to the cargo hold opened. The Exo and Arcstrider shifted their attention toward the entryway and found John standing there frozen in the threshold. His arms swayed at his side as he rocked awkwardly in place. He was acting like a child who had been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Uh…wrong door.” The Gunslinger back tracked through the entry before suddenly popping his head back in. “I knew you could talk!” John left before either of them could say anything.

“Well, I guess that cat is out of the bag,” The Guardian chuckled after a moment.

Saint laughed, “I had not planned on revealing our relationship like this.”

“We’re doomed,” she joked, falling into his lap dramatically.

“What will people say?” Saint asked, suddenly frightened.

“Does it matter?” she laughed. “They can eat knuckle sandwiches for all I care.”

“Dah!” he nodded. “I guess it does not matter. As long as we are together, no one can tear us apart.” She smiled. Saint said nothing more as his helmet transmatted away. Cradling her head and shoulders into his arms, he stared into her hazel gaze. The Arcstrider reached up, pulled his head to hers, and they shared a long awaited kiss.

“Welcome back,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, then check out Riptor25's work. They've got some excellent stories, some of which they created for the Destiny universe. My two favorites by them are: "AU: Ghost Stories: Chosen" and "Vestibule of the Spine" (co-authored by Nemonus). :)

**Author's Note:**

> P.S.  
> I intentionally left it "cliffhangery" for the Guardian's name. Figured it's not as important to the audience since "The Guardian" has been basically nameless throughout the game series. However, they are usually referred to by title. "The Guardian", "Young Wolf", "Crota's End"...etc. You get the picture. Anywhoooooo…R&R if you feel compelled. :)


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